


Happiness is a Warm Gun

by herongale



Category: Transformers, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-07
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herongale/pseuds/herongale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron has a secret. Long ago, he faced the possibility that it would be uncovered by Starscream. Will he be able to keep it hidden? Eventual slash, but not explicitly so. G1 cartoon verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Starts Here

His hands dropped, ever so slightly, as the weapon slipped into position. Sparing but a slight glance to confirm his grip, Starscream's attention immediately swept the field, scanning for spies but expecting none. Summer stars gleamed haughty and cold high in the dark Arizona sky; on this moonless night, the hull of the Ark would be barely visible to standard optical scanning. Thermal imaging told a different story.

_Defensive systems remain operational_. Starscream reported silently via encrypted commlink. Clearly, Soundwave had not yet achieved his objective of hacking into Teletraan-1. _We wait_.

For a long moment there was silence, and Starscream returned his attention to _the weapon_, this time examining carefully the simulation Earth pistol under which he had the grave misfortune to serve. In this form his commander, the mighty leader of the Decepticons, was easily at his most lethal, supercompressed density similar to a planetary core. No flesh creature could wield him, despite the outward resemblance to a outdated German 9mm of nothing but quaint historical relevance. It was heavy; he was heavy.

_Idiot_, Megatron signaled at last. _Enter autistic mode immediately_. Abruptly the signal was severed as the weapon flickered offline.

Splendid. Starscream shut down his communication network as well, stifling a dismissive shrug as he pondered his leader's foolish paranoia. The signals for communication were not only encrypted, they were transmitted via extremely low gain frequencies, and therefore ought not be detectable by those lazy fools across the valley.

Without a doubt, the Autobots were engaging in some meaningless self-congratulatory debauchery. Anyway, wasn't this the time that notorious Autobot propaganda, The Dukes of Hazzard, was broadcast? Surely they wouldn't be diligent about examining other signals at this time.

Nevertheless, the decision pleased Starscream. Talking to _the weapon_ was exhausting under all circumstances. He usually ended up revealing a lot more than he intended to say, blurting out his every fleeting thought under the influence of his commander's disdainful attention.

Starscream slouched further behind protective cover. He was hiding at the bottom of a large rolling hill, behind some boulders left behind from Earth's glacial times. He returned his attention to the Autobot base. With luck, Soundwave's hacking wouldn't take too much longer.

As a Seeker, he itched to act, and these feelings only intensified when he was so superbly armed. Forget the null ray (although he was inordinately fond if it); thus compacted, his leader's fusion capacities were practically limitless. The ultimate weapon. Maintaining this state took tremendous amounts of energy, which was why the alt-mode was something Megatron only used during special circumstances… either when lethal force was urgently needed, or at times when stealth was most critical. Times like this.

This was a raid for him alone. The others were deployed elsewhere, performing other important tasks. His was the most dangerous. Megatron might be with him, but as a weapon, he could not lead. It would be Starscream's decisions, his skill as a sharpshooter, determining which Autobots would die. His skill would ultimately determine the fate of this mission. His alone.

Megatron was merely a tool.

It had been his… talent… in directing Megatron's furious energies that had won him his status as second-in-command to begin with. For various reasons, this was a fact unknown to his peers. They sneered at him, thinking him to be a sniveling coward, treasonous and small-minded. Somewhat true, he didn't mind admitting to himself… but so what? He had a hold on Megatron none of the others could replicate. Others tried: by necessity, the weapon he held now had been wielded by various Decepticons at need. Soundwave was his principle rival, but it was no accident that if there was a choice, he, the illustrious Starscream, would be the one holding the primary offensive instrument of the Decepticon army.

The math was very simple. By rights, Megatron belonged to him. By rights, therefore, he should lead.

Unfortunately, no one else saw things this way. At another time he might resent the fact that his contributions would go largely unnoticed, both by his commander and by his fellow Decepticons, who would inevitably attribute any successes to Megatron (all failures, however, would of course still belong to him). But as his hand tightened on the grip of his weapon, Starscream's habitual resentments melted away. There would be time enough later to catalogue the extensive litany of his woes.

He himself was not a weapon; but in wielding one, _this_ one, he was supremely powerful. Lord of the firmament indeed. The stars themselves smiled down their distant approval.

++

 

No one dared ask him what it was like, inhabiting his alt mode.

Few of his kind had ever been created, so curiosity might be expected; in his early days Megatron himself had wondered with a certain undefined envy over the experiences of Cybertronians designed for motion. Particularly those designed for flight. He could fly in his robot mode, but it wasn't the same; perceptions in alt-mode were wildly different, with completely separate and parallel sensory arrays coming online. He could merely fly; those designated as Seekers _were_ flight.

In alt mode, function defined not only what you were, but who you were.

Collapsing in upon himself, Megatron did not suddenly feel small or inert. In fact, it was impossible for him to perceive the change in size, because most of his usual sensory arrays went offline. He did not lose awareness of the world, but it was very much like being blind. He had no sensation of being held, and minimal perception of most of the outside world. And yet, in another way it was the opposite of blindness, because a whole new array came online, and this array directed his attention like an arrow towards his target.

He could not choose where he was pointed, but he was always pointed somewhere.

For all of his innumerable flaws, Starscream had the one skill he valued the most: a steady hand. A hand that had been cultivated only through millions of years of combat, true, but steady all the same. In other ways Starscream was a clumsy, overreaching oaf, and when using that damnable null ray of his, Starscream often allowed his boastful self-confidence sabotage his innate abilities. But with Megatron as his weapon, Starscream's aim improved. He was less ambitious then.

It was ironic, really. Both he and Starscream were at their best when they worked together.

At the moment, the Autobot home base dominated his consciousness. He hadn't needed Starscream's sneering report with his habitual triumphant criticism of the failings of others. He could see for himself the full extent of the Ark's defensive array. Targeted, he could see it better than any other mechanism existing. No one else, for example, could see what he was observing now: the poison-like incursion of Soundwave's hacking.

It was typical Starscream idiocy. After all this time, and all that tedious and shameful testing, one would think that even that dolt would have figured out this aspect of his power. Going offline was almost entirely about getting him to shut up; silence was golden where Starscream was concerned.

The thing that most interested him about Starscream, practically the only thing, could not be found in anything he said. As Starscream scanned the Ark, viewing it through Megatron's scope, Megatron in turn gathered a sense of how Starscream's mind worked. As a Seeker, his vision was quick and decisive, continually scanning for threats even when still. In his normal robot form, Megatron could not take in even a tenth of what Starscream could; he imagined that the gap would be far wider if he compared himself to Starscream's own alt mode. If his own focus was tight and heavily internal, Starscream existed almost entirely outside of himself, floating on the need to see and experience everything all at once.

It was… intriguing. The vicarious pleasure was, to use crude fleshling parlance, visceral. A dirty word, visceral. Comparing one's cleanly inorganic exalted self to the slimy and crawly things of the Earth was somewhat of a taboo, and using such terms towards other Cybertronians was the deepest, rawest form of insult. And yet, Megatron could find no other word to describe this reaction to being a gun in Starscream's hands. Perhaps such feelings were imposed from without, but he'd embraced them and made them his own.

Megatron could make anything his own. Given enough time, even Starscream would belong to him.

The thought filled Megatron with a perverse, illicit pleasure. At times like this he was glad he'd never quite followed through on his periodic fleeting resolve to forever dissolve Starscream's right to function.

There was complete silence in the valley as Teletraan-1 seized up, succumbing at last to the final stages of hacking. Insidiously snuffing intelligent life was never so fulfilling as doing it the old fashioned way, through massive violence. But it would do.

Megatron paused, deciding to wait a moment. How long would it take before Starscream realized Soundwave had completed his task?

Not too long, it turned out.

"Finally." With a vicious little flick of the thumb, Starscream disengaged Megatron's safety, not bothering to hide either his caustic scorn or his impatience. His voice was quiet, however, as he brought the gun up beside his face, barrel aimed for the sky. "Orders, almighty Megatron?"

If only he could grind to powder Starscream's grating arrogance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the title of this fic goes to John Lennon, obviously. The title of this chapter comes from a song by the Montreal band, Stars. The concept of "autistic mode" is borrowed directly from the anime series Ghost in the Shell.
> 
> Thanks go to my best friend and beta reader, Anax, whose support and enthusiasm made this story possible.
> 
> In the following chapter, OCs will be used. These are "story essential" original characters. I have no special attachment to them, and although I made sure to give them interesting personalities and issues, the focus of the chapter will primarily be on Megatron. After the backstory in that chapter, the rest of the story will be filled with familiar canon characters. So please don't be alarmed.


	2. Interregnum

"Drink up, mechs! After tomorrow there's nothing but lifelong servitude!"

Shockwave sat with the gathered gunformers of the 33rd division barracks of the Decepticon army, politely holding a cube of energon despite having no intention to ingest. Around the table sat his comrades; _brothers_, they might be called, although the familial title was a misleading conceit.

After all, a brother was someone you fought beside, and come tomorrow, they would be together no more.

Leading the toast was Blackthorn, who sounded cheerful despite his bleak diagnosis of the future. He held up his cube, and all the others raised theirs in salute.

Almost all. Shockwave briefly turned to the shadowy corner of the courtyard, and if he could smile he would have.

Lord Megatron was above these trivialities.

"To relentless fighting!" This was Slingwhip continuing, his slashed face twisted but cheerful.

"To enforced isolation!" And this, Chokewire. Usually the taciturn type. But of course, for him, the next day's bonding ritual would make it so much easier for him to avoid having to talk to anyone: a dream assignment.

"Intercut with displays of humiliating subservience." Thunderstar. Dry. Superior, as usual.

Slingwhip nodded to Thunderstar, reaching across the table to slosh his cube in front of the insufferably arrogant mechanism. "_Aaand _we may never see each other again." The smile exchanged between the two was charged with mutual contempt. "Cheers."

Such were his "brothers."

It was a designation overdue for revision.

Shockwave turned his gaze upwards, looking out over the walls of the barracks to the distant spires of the Autobot occupation.

Even here on Kaon the Autobot's influence could be felt, polluting the night with their iridescent nanomachine fog. The nanomachines could not breach the Decepticons' defensive perimeter shield, but the light they cast could. And did.

The spires that sliced the noctilucent sky were plated gold cyanide, and the reflected light created a kind of twilight here in the open courtyard of the barracks. The courtyard was spacious, low walled and tiled in titanium. At the center was a mercury fountain. It flowed silent and silver under the starry sky. It had been Shockwave's home ever since he had been assembled; come tomorrow, he would never return. As with the others, he would go with his master and enter formal service as a weapons attaché.

Unlike the others, for him there would be no bonding ritual. There was no point: for Shockwave, servitude had already begun.

"What do you think it will be like?" Blackthorn asked, casually, after knocking back the contents of his cube. He sounded so smooth, as if the answer was of little importance. Shockwave wondered how much of that was an act, and how much was true indifference. "Who do you think we'll get?"

Slingwhip made a face. "Does it matter? It's a given we'll be assigned to generals on active duty." He had already emptied his cube, and was already refilling it. "But as for what it's like…" Shockwave was not surprised when Slingwhip gave him a sly sideways glance. "Why don't we ask the expert?"

Shockwave shrugged, refusing to rise to the bait. He was well aware that his bond was considered scandalous, and that he himself was thought of as "willful" and an embarrassment to the warrior ranks. None of them understood, yet, the inevitability of it. After all, he'd not intended to bond to Lord Megatron. It just happened.

But of course that was not good enough. Thunderstar pointed to the corner. "Ask Megatron. He'll make the slagged glitch talk."

"No he won't," Blackthorn observed. "Not while he's sulking."

How dare they? Shockwave became indignant. Loyalty compelled him to speak, even knowing he'd be mocked for it. "Lord Megatron never sulks."

Chokewire gave Shockwave a look that was almost admiring. "Just let the generals hear you call him that."

Yes, that would probably be bad. But unless Megatron ordered him to stop, how could he?

"Gotta work on that, glitch." Slingwhip was addressing him directly now, smiling broadly. "_Lord_ Megatron won't be too happy if you get him in trouble with _his_ new master." The scorn on the word "Lord" was palpable.

"Perhaps." Shockwave swirled his energon, knowing that his physiognomy of design made drinking in front of these idiots something of an inadvisable idea. "However, I needn't worry that his master will ever be you."

"Ooh, acid." Slingwhip remained unfazed. "Still, best be careful tomorrow. You wouldn't want Megatron paired up with a lowly corporal, would you? Just because you can't shut up?"

The thought filled Shockwave with horror. Shockwave did not like the idea of his Lord being forced to submit to anyone, but at the very least it should be someone worthy. He looked down, suddenly worried, putting his hands together in his lap as he began to fret.

Despite his admiration for Lord Megatron, Shockwave did in fact wish that things had not worked out this way.

It was all Slingwhip's fault anyway. He was the one who had come up with the moronic idea that they should practice targeting on one another, and Blackthorn had turned it into a dare. A dare that was later regarded as legendarily stupid.

Shockwave remembered the incident all too well. Each of them had transformed into their alt-modes, and for the first time sampled the targeting of sentient life.

Targeting was judgement. It was also the key to switching on the weapons-code, which was in turn the central routine of the bonding ritual. A ritual unique to gunformers. They were _supposed_ to be careful. But Blackthorn had pointed Shockwave at Megatron for just a little too long.

Remembering, Shockwave turned his expressionless gaze to Blackthorn. After some time Blackthorn looked away, tapping the fingers of one hand on the tabletop.

"Megatron would annihilate him if that happened," Chockwire said, advanced overcharge making him come off as peculiarly giddy. "He. Would. Annihilate. Him."

"Come on," Slingwhip said, pouring himself another drink. "You really think Megatron would atomize his number one fan?"

How little they understood Lord Megatron. Shockwave knew that he'd be reduced to _neutrinos_ if he ever became a liability.

The bond didn't affect his Lord; it was designed to be one-way, after all.

"What about it, Number One Fan?" Thunderstar queried, turning the insult into a title. Shockwave knew that of all of them, Thunderstar liked him least. Probably resented the fact that Shockwave had bonded to Lord Megatron and not, say, him. There was a vicious twist to his mocking. "How soon until you end up on the slag heap?"

"It has been decided," Shockwave said, tone cold. "I will go where Lord Megatron goes." The criticism of his peers was unimportant.

Remembering his courage, Blackthorn finally turned back to smile at Shockwave. "Lucky you."

"Yeah," Slingwhip added, draping an unwanted arm across Shockwave's back. "You should be grateful."

"_Why_ should he be grateful, you moron?"

Shockwave's spark flared to hear the voice of his wielder. His master. Lord Megatron roused himself from his lonely corner, coming to stand at the end of the table.

He was shaking with rage.

Awe struck Shockwave like a silicon blast. It was hopeless to try and hold back his admiration. Just as it had been on that day.

How could he help but be drawn to such a strong and implacable mechanism?

"Well?" Megatron added after a moment when no one responded to his abrupt interjection.

Blackthorn looked away. So did everyone else.

"Lord Megatron…" Shockwave said, again looking down in his lap. He wanted to apologize, for allowing himself to be baited. If only he'd kept silent and endured the insults…

"Shut up." Obviously, Lord Megatron wasn't having any of it. "Well? What do the _rest_ of you have to say?"

Slingwire made a noise as if clearing the static from his vocalizer. "He, uh, could do worse…?"

"That is not the point!"

The gathered gunformers answered with silence, clearly at a loss.

After Shockwave's unexpected bonding, Blackthorn had been thoroughly punished for reckless insubordination and misappropriation of a valuable Decepticon resource. Gunformers were not pleasure bots to be scattered about indiscriminately amongst the rank-and-file; it was especially inappropriate for one weapons-class Decepticon to hold the bond to another. Weapons needed to be controlled; this was the wisdom and decree of the Decepticon leadership.

It was the unanimous opinion of all who were not Lord Megatron that this bonding ritual was sensible, necessary, and beneficial for all parties involved. The generals would obtain powerful weapons, warriors which had two traits exceedingly uncommon in their race: loyalty and obedience. In turn, the weapon-designates would obtain prestige and rank, with power commisural to those they served. Win-win: a Decepticon's favorite kind of bargain. Even Shockwave approved: he _wanted_ to serve Lord Megatron.

Megatron snarled as answers continued to remain unforthcoming. "Just because he enjoyed a modicum of choice doesn't mean that it's an acceptable condition for any of us. I, for one, refuse to accept it!"

This rebellion of Lord Megatron was puzzling, but because it _was_ Lord Megatron's, Shockwave could not fault it. The weapons-code was built into them and was as much a part of the gunformers as the alt-modes themselves. The nature of the code was such that, once initialized, it could not be overwritten except with a complete personality revision. And perhaps even that would not be enough: the code was written into the very energies of a gunformer's spark. Lord Megatron would not be able to wipe it from his system, no matter how much he hated it.

Shockwave hoped that one day Lord Megatron would explain why this honor was something he was so eager to cast away.

"That's your opinion," Blackthorn said. "Why don't you ask Shockwave what he thinks about it?"

Lord Megatron crossed his arms and glared at Blackthorn.

Shockwave wished he could vanish. If Lord Megatron asked, he'd have to tell the truth.

"What he thinks is irrelevant." Megatron finally replied, tone tight and distant. "You are all morons, and he is no exception."

The only regrettable part of the bond was the fact that it was so unbalanced. To be at the mercy of someone who might hate him was always a frightening prospect. And yet, the bond wouldn't exist if Lord Megatron had been an inappropriate candidate to begin with.

"Yeah, well… at least we are all morons who have a slagging clue," Thunderstar said, not bothering to hide the relish he felt in confronting Megatron directly. Shockwave knew that Thunderstar had always come in second to Megatron in their skills assessment and training. "They'll drag you kicking and screaming if you don't go voluntarily, and you know as well as I do that escape is impossible."

Perhaps Lord Megatron had decided for himself that none of the existing leadership of the Decepticons were worthy. If he truly could not believe in the worth of those who intended to have him serve, then of course he could not be bonded. The bonding ritual would fail.

And Lord Megatron, in all likelihood, would be scrapped as a failed mechanism.

"What's the point?" Chockwire, finally rejoining the general conversation with an expression slowly becoming sour. "All you do is hurt the Decepticon cause with your selfish blatherings."

And Shockwave would be scrapped along with him.

"Selfish? I suppose you could say that." Lord Megatron uncrossed his arms. In a way that was both unsettling and characteristic of him, his wielder's glare vanished, replaced with a look of internalized calculation. "Very well. We shall see which of us become mindless pawns for the glory of _the Decepticon Cause_."

Shockwave did not doubt the judgement of his targeting. He believed in Lord Megatron.

"Come, Shockwave. Let us leave these morons to their Pyrrhic celebrations." The enticing flare in Shockwave's spark was almost too much to bear. Was Lord Megatron really calling for him to follow? At last?

He stood. He would follow Lord Megatron anywhere. He would destroy anything for him.

That night, the 33rd division barracks of the mighty Decepticon army went down in flames.

Lord Megatron's revolt had begun.


	3. The Mizzenmast

Every million years or so, Cybertron wandered into a local system and temporarily basked in the energy of some friendly star.

Cybertron's atmosphere was thin; strong enough to convey sound, but weak in most other respects. Out near the trailing indeterminate boundary between it and space, the air barely stretched to span the void where it was at its most heated. But now, with a solar wind licking Cybertron's strong magnetic field, the nearby star kicked up flares towards the planetary visitor. The ionized air was alive with electrostatic energy.

It was in this milieu that the Decepticon tetra jet Starscream considered his current situation, as he rent the sky.

By every conceivable measure, he ought to have been content. He'd recently accepted a spark transfer into his current form; he was now a top-of-the-line production grade tetra jet, and furthermore he'd used all of his skill to customize his body prior to transfer. Even as a scientist, he'd been vain: he used every scrap of skill at his disposal to tweak the base settings and modify the basic components, both for maximal functionality and because he wanted to look damn good in the process. His spark was suitable for this form; from the beginning he'd been imbued with exactly the brilliance and quickness required for flight.

His meticulous care had paid off, too. He'd come to the Decepticon cause late, reluctant to commit until he was quite sure that the Decepticons would soon hold the upper hand. But despite this tardiness, and the fact that his military background had been functionally nil, he'd been invited to complete a trine with two of the oldest and most respected tetra jets, fighters who had been with Megatron almost from the very beginning. Thundercracker and Skywarp were among the few existing working prototypes, possessing unique skills which hadn't been built into the later production models.

Starscream could have been just another face in the crowd. But this was unsuitable to his nature.

_So why am I so uneasy?_

Of late, he'd even earned the attention of Megatron, the fearsome leader of his faction. Ever the shameless opportunist, Starscream cultivated Megatron's interest as best he could, and despite his manifest lack of experience he felt that he'd more or less succeeded. Having strategically positioned himself as a member of Thundercracker's trine had ensured him a spot as one of Megatron's elite guard, but he'd known from the start that this visibility would only make failure more humiliating and obvious.

To climb, Starscream had to shine using his own inner light. Or, as Skywarp liked to say, "fake it until you make it."

Still, something didn't feel quite right. He couldn't muffle the disquiet stirring the currents within his own spark. It was as if he was carrying some unobservable payload, weighing him down with a sense of nameless dread. For some reason, he just couldn't close the loop.

_Has Megatron figured out that I'm just a fraud?_

_How dare he think of me as a fraud!?_

After all, there was no _active_ deceit involved. Starscream's past was a matter of public record. Anyone who cared to look would see that the majority of his life had been spent as a scientist. That he'd only recently enrolled in the Academy, completing an abbreviated course of training. That his training had been cut short only because he'd received an invitation to join the Seeker ranks. His path might have been a bit unconventional, but it wasn't like he'd done anything underhanded to get to where he was today.

No, the only thing he'd done was to work harder than anyone else. Just because he hated to admit ignorance didn't mean that he refused to address it. Even when he thought that military procedure was outdated, clumsy, or illogical, he always learned what he could of it, not wanting to be tripped up by some malicious rival bent on exposing him. If he didn't know how something was done, he learned. If he couldn't find a way to get someone to teach him, he taught himself.

Starscream believed in results. His performance stats were good. He managed to achieve every task set out before him, no matter how technically challenging.

But was that good enough? There was a difference between having a few gaps in one's knowledge and completely making it up as one went along.

It was so unfair. Terribly, terribly unfair. Perhaps he should have finished his time out at the academy after all.

The only thing Starscream knew for sure was that Thundercracker and Skywarp didn't seem to care. They even seemed to approve entirely. But perhaps that was just because they'd done the same slagging thing long ago while earning their stripes. It was easy enough for Skywarp to tell Starscream to fake it when those days were long behind him. It didn't matter if Thundercracker was all blasé when he currently was in possession of all the skills to be an appropriate warrior. _They'd_ gotten away with it.

Didn't mean Starscream was slated for the same.

In the end, it didn't matter what Skywarp or Thundercracker thought. It didn't even matter what he himself thought. If Megatron had seen through his scam and found him lacking, no measure of success could make up for the ensuing disappointment. No matter what he said, no matter how he tried to defend, if Megatron wanted to look down at him for the grave sin of not having been a warrior at creation, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. The only honest tools in Starscream's arsenal were his confidence and an overwhelming talent for contempt, and what could they do against the threat of brute force?

With Megatron, disappointment was guaranteed to be lethal.

The only thing that seemed clear was that Megatron was the source of this irritating sense of impending doom. Something had changed recently in the way the leader behaved toward him. The glint in his optics was almost overfriendly, presenting a face of solicitousness that had to, _had_ to be sarcastic. It made Starscream feel nervous and insecure, two moods he thought were completely unnecessary and which should never even exist within his processor set. Starscream didn't know what it was, but Megatron had to be on to _something_. All this not knowing was driving him insane.

Thus the spontaneous joyride. Skimming the sky was a good distraction.

The solar winds had kicked up a rare geomagnetic storm, stirring the sky with auroras coming in waves from the poles. Because the air was thin, the auroras were too, spectral washes of fox fire only faintly coloring the thermosphere. At this height, sound was almost too tenuous to propagate, but the sparking activity of free electrons buzzed in Starscream's auditory sensors like a swarming ghost. To minimize delta-v, Starscream was currently in free fall, heat shields activated and cooling systems at maximum as he flirted with re-entry.

Although he was categorized as a tetra jet, the term was a bit misleading, because Starscream's primary engines were rocket-propelled. Cybertron was a small planet. All Seekers had large wings in root-mode, but those wings did not carry over when transformed: the atmosphere simply was not strong enough for wing-based modes of flight to dominate, and all flight mechanisms relied on some sort of rocket boost in order to achieve lift. It was just as well; Starscream far preferred accelerating on the straight, achieving almost monstrous levels of speed far above the embattled cities of Cybertron. His overall maneuverability was rather limited, but what did that matter when the primary use for his kind was for air strikes? It was not as if the Autobots would ever rise to challenge the Decepticons in the sky.

"Thundercracker to Starscream, acknowledge."

A moment of static, and then another hail. "Incoming!"

Starscream sighed as a flash of light occurred in the lateral horizon, visible to his sensors if not quite visualized by him. As usual, Skywarp was there first, taking unfair advantage of his flashy specialized skill. It was not long before Thundercracker joined them, using old-fashioned dead reckoning instead of fancy quantum mechanics, thrusters on maximum to close the distance while also increasing altitude.

"Acknowledged," Starscream signaled, and then with a bit of wry tone he added, "Yes, you found me."

"Megatron was concerned that you might have achieved escape velocity only to get thrashed by the solar flare," Thundercracker replied, his own tone matter-of-fact. "I told him that would be your good option." It was amazing how he was able to achieve so much sarcasm while sounding so glib.

There was an unwelcome flutter in Starscream's engine components as he processed this news. He'd worked so hard to obtain Megatron's attention; now that he had it, he felt as exposed as a silicon chip under a microscope. He was also fairly sure that his wingmates didn't exactly appreciate being sent on search-and-babysit missions. "I just wanted some space to think," he said, confession always being his preferred form of apology.

"Oh, bad idea little buddy," Skywarp said, and he didn't bother to hide his amusement. "That's usually fatal at these speeds."

"Maybe for you," Starscream said, retreating to a kind of joking haughtiness in order to steady his nerves. "_I_ am a scientist."

"Former scientist," Skywarp noted. "Right now you're just a twerp."

"Although Skywarp's got a point, that's not why we are here." Thundercracker's voice sounded suspiciously dry over the commlink. It was very unclear which of Skywarp's points he was referring to; possibly both. "Megatron has requested the honor of your presence." He paused. "Forcefully."

"Why can't you just say he ordered me to return?" This was even worse than he thought.

"Oh, don't worry. He's not upset that you're wasting precious fuel for your special philosophical mission." That meant Thundercracker was. "He's just summoning you for target practice."

A test. It had to be a test. "Er… I'll take reduced fuel rations for the next decacycle," Starscream said, deciding to address the more clear and present danger. "I'd been planning on doing that anyway."

"Unnecessary. Megatron approved your 'mission' retroactively."

Even worse than he thought. Starscream really couldn't afford to be on Thundercracker's bad side, no matter what Megatron had said. Megatron must have done that on purpose! It was yet another test, this time checking both his powers of diplomacy, and his loyalties. There was no good answer to this problem that acknowledged his loyalties to both, and unilaterally Megatron had removed his best option for appeasing his wing commander. If he offered to take the reduced rations anyway, that was as good as spitting energon in Megatron's face. But if he didn't…

"Clock is ticking," Skywarp said, clearly aware of Starscream's discomfort and inner dilemma, and enjoying the hell out of it.

"I… I guess we should return straightaway," Starscream said with a nervous laugh, deciding that the better part of discretion was retreat. "Er… I mean, if you want…" he added hastily, realizing a little late how his original statement might be interpreted. "Commander." He couldn't help but wince internally at his servile tone.

This would all be better if he were promoted to be Thundercracker's equal. Or better… superior. Possible, if Megatron didn't kill him first.

"Alright," Thundercracker said laconically. Apparently he wasn't that hard to appease.

_Thank slagging Primus._

"The landing needs work, but overall not a bad effort," Skywarp said, before flashing out sight, materializing a few dozen kilometers below. Oh, now that was completely unnecessary.

Starscream adjusted his navigational systems, setting a new course back to base. Thundercracker dipped into formation, joining him in a half-V and condescendingly allowing Starscream the conceit of being point. Even more unnecessary. For several kliks Starscream silently fumed, wanting to overwrite his unfortunate acquiescence with some sharply chosen words, knowing full well that he never would follow through unless he found for himself an undeniable upper hand. That just made the fuming worse.

He had to say something! He had to recover some of his lost pride or it would be squandered forever! Even if it wasn't the full extent of what he _could_ say, there had to be some way he could win back the respect of his comrades. "Look, I…"

Thundercracker interrupted. "You know," he began, meditative and calm and completely overriding the shrill urgency into which Starscream was gearing to launch. He paused, clearly confirming that Starscream had shut up before continuing. "I'll never understand how he doesn't get lost."

Eh? Starscream continued in his controlled dive, surrounded in the full blue-orange flames of re-entry. "What?"

"Skywarp." Thundercracker followed, descending pitch mimicking Starscream's own in both attitude and flame. "Doesn't it seem like he should be flying in the dark? I mean, where are his references?"

"Doesn't he just re-orient using satellite positioning data?" Starscream couldn't hide his impatience. Wasn't that basic… obvious? As a gambit to deflect Starscream's ire, that was pretty clumsy. Starscream almost found himself becoming smug, considering how stupid and obvious Thundercracker was being.

"No satellites online at the moment."

Electron flow seemed to stop as his processors were washed in a rush of reflexive sympathetic coolant release. As soon as he could prevent complete consciousness shutdown, Starscream checked. He didn't normally rely on the satellites himself; it was not Decepticon practice to rely on data collection from sources outside of one's immediate control. As pertained to usual flight, satellites were a weakling crutch designed to make up for insufficiently robust gyroscopic and accelerometer navigation devices. Still, the Deceptions maintained an impressive satellite network, for spying as much as for any other reason.

"A-autobot jamming?"

"Yep. They must be up to something sneaky." Thundercracker laughed; it was impossible to tell if he was trying to be reassuring or had gone directly into implicit mockery, pointing out yet another area of surveillance of which Starscream was as of yet completely ignorant. "Don't worry. It's not directed at us specifically."

There was just so much to learn. Starscream forgot his impatience and humiliation as he scrambled to cover the gaps in his knowledge while attempting to apply some immediate remedial training, instantly attempting to track the source of the jamming, while at the same time trying to assess the import of Thundercracker's original question: how _was_ Skywarp navigating if his prior references all vanished in a moment of quantum shift? In a moment, he had them both.

"Amazing. I guess he really _can't_ afford to think."

It was almost impossible to conceive. But there was only one answer, only one possible answer. In the instant he materialized, Skywarp was functionally lost. Sure, he'd have to have some rough idea of where he would end up prior to jump, but without being able to assess the variables at the place of re-emergence, his assessment could only be approximate. A very good approximation, certainly, but no matter.

Coming out of hyperspace, no conventional sensory array could cut it in terms of precise positioning. Without satellites, Skywarp had to use some alternative form of trilateralization, presumably using reference data from fixed points within Cybertron. Since he couldn't depend on a reliable signal from these places _either_, he had to send his own signal, swiftly enough to useful. And for the reflected signal to be at all meaningful, he had to send out trillions of these signal instantaneously and three-dimensionally. The resulting map would only be of use insofar as it was ridiculously precise, and even then would only be partially useful if he didn't have his own baseline map of the entire planet against which to compare the provisional one.

Even during normal flight, Skywarp had to be spending a significant amount of time updating and refining his internal map.

It was staggering. The processing power alone had to be off the charts.

"Amazing…" The scientist in him was overwhelmed with envy and tech lust.

No way the Autobots could defeat the Decepticons, if all they had to counteract such marvelous abilities was some fairly conventional, easy-to-trace jamming.

"You've got it." For the first time, Thundercracker's lazy tone was suffused with a degree of approval. "Now. Let's get back to base, okay?"

"Roger." Another lesson learned.

It might have been humiliating, but Starscream could afford to set that aside.

Megatron was his goal. Megatron, and his impossible, seemingly limitless demands and frighteningly intense expectations.


	4. Prove Yourself

"What is your knowledge of Trieste?"

Starscream tensed. Only two breems out and the inquisition was well in process. Megatron was commanding the shuttlecraft they were using for "target practice," a deceptively benign term to describe an insane guerrilla assault on some vulnerable Autobot base, just the two of them, shooting down Autobots for no reason other than because they were there. It was so pointless.

_Seemingly_ pointless; Starscream was well aware that this too was a test, of a magnitude so great that it made Thundercracker's tests seem like trivial games.

After returning to base and refueling under the mocking supervision of his wingmates, he'd been shooed off to the command center… alone. In a way, this was pleasing. It meant that he'd passed Thundercracker's impromptu grilling and survived Skywarp's hazing. This was their way of telling him that he could be trusted not to make an absolute fool of himself before their supreme leader, and that was important because his actions reflected directly on them.

But Starscream bore no illusions. This also meant that they were lazy dilettantes with little ambition, who wanted no part of Starscream's "special training" and didn't want to be in any danger of accidentally roping themselves in. It was useful for Megatron to lavish so much attention on _him_, so long as he didn't prove to be a pathetic failure, because it meant less attention to spare for _them_. Useful for many reasons: not the least of which that Thundercracker and Skywarp were shamelessly prone to ditching routine duties in favor of doing a little joyriding of their own.

Ah, well. In this case they'd earned it. And he didn't need their support anyway.

Still, the nervousness he'd tried to dispel earlier had returned with treble force. Megatron's question was the first whisper of a hint of what their mission target would be, and it was not a question that inspired calm. Trieste was one of the larger Autobot cities of Praxus, with a population of thousands. Worse, it was a trench city, located in the narrowest fault on Cybertron, perilous for flight and seemingly impervious to assault. Taking it on with an army would be risky enough; for just the two of them, it was absolutely ludicrous. Completely suicidal.

Starscream said as much, leaving out the words "ludicrous" and "suicidal," but taking great care to outline what he saw to be the risks all the same. Megatron was supposed to be one of the greatest tacticians of all time; was this tactical brilliance, or simply some new and horrifying form of Decepticon madness? Whatever it was, he was as good as dead if he antagonized his illustrious leader. However, perhaps he was as good as dead anyway, if his foresight held any merit. It was difficult to mask the strain in his voice as he tentatively told Megatron all he knew.

"Excellent. You are prepared, then."

Prepared? Was he? Wouldn't someone normally phrase that as a question? "Yes?"

Megatron smiled, saying nothing. The silver mech was at the helm, steering via the touchscreen control panel. The sculpted landscape below gleamed copper in the long light of the setting sun, and Megatron's gaze as they swept over the local territories of Cybertron was impassive even as his smile remained intact.

Starscream was uncomfortable already, simply because it felt deeply unnatural to be a passenger in an aircraft. Piloting one was jarring enough; he imagined that medics experienced a similar disconnect when using a borescope to perform internal repairs instead of visualizing damage and addressing it directly. No Seeker liked having a wall between himself and the air, but it was even worse to sit back and be a passenger while _someone else flew_. Megatron did not pilot intuitively, like Starscream would. There was a rote quality to Megatron's actions that was simultaneously stultifying and incredibly disturbing. Megatron must have known his discomfort, with both the flight and the mission. Why else would he be smiling?

Turning his own attention to the viewshield, Starscream closed his hands into fists. "Many pardons. Yes." He'd be prepared if it killed him.

Outside Cybertron baked in the nearby star's waning light, which burned unnaturally in Cybertron's southern sky. By now almost all of the livable areas had been driven underground, buildings retracting under heat-soaking solar panels. At least Trieste was currently darkside; no shields would stretch across the gulf over the surface access port to the city. Not that this was a comforting thought; Starscream had already pointed out that they'd have less than a single breem to complete whatever destruction Megatron intended prior to the shields closing in over them, trapping them in the eleven-thousand meter fault.

Just _what_ was Megatron planning?

"Mmm." Megatron sounded distracted, but Starscream turned only to find his leader stealing a sideways glance at him. It was an evaluative look, of the sort that had so recently been disturbing Starscream. Had he not been forceful enough in declaring his readiness? He shouldn't have sounded so wavering and unsure! Was the save somehow insufficient? Should he say more? Or had he already said too much?

All he knew was that he had to say something! Megatron kept staring at him, and by Primus he appeared to be expecting something. Worse, Starscream felt the shuttle dip a little, and he cringed: if he didn't say anything, would Megatron lead them into some ignominious crash? Was this all some sick game of Blink? "Th-thank you for assigning me extra rations," Starscream blurted stupidly, before rigidly turning to look forward and away from Megatron's somehow unreadable face. This was bad; he could feel his processors flutter, and his babbling tic threatened to take over, destroying him utterly by the simple fact of his own depressing lack of self control.

"How could I not, when you use them for such _important_ missions?" Megatron sounded disgustingly relaxed, but at least he turned back to what he was supposed to be doing, piloting. Even if he couldn't see it out of the corner of his optics, Starscream instantly knew, because of the sudden smooth leveling of his internal gyroscopes. The mocking tone in Megatron's voice was unmistakable, but gentle; slight jeering instead of outright scorn. "One trusts you learned many critical skills on your… jaunt."

"Many, Lord Megatron." The lie had to be transparent, but Starscream didn't care. If Starscream had learned one thing during his time with the Decepticons, it was that lying was mandatory (and in fact preferred) whenever the truth was unacceptable. In this case, it was absolutely essential not to appear weak; Starscream would make up skills if he had to, pulling plausible truth after plausible truth out of his thrusters until the whole planet was choking from his exhaust.

"I see." Clear amusement. Megatron was a million times worse than Skywarp! Was he just teasing him after all? "I'm sure Thundercracker is pleased with your efforts towards advancement."

… No. No, that wasn't teasing. That was so far from teasing it wasn't even in the same galactic sector. Starscream cursed himself for letting down his guard mentally for even a moment. This was a rule he had to etch into his memory circuits: Do not underestimate Megatron. Do not underestimate Megatron.

His desire to babble was strangling him; holding it down was like choking. He wanted to immediately jump to his own defense, but saying anything now other than frank agreement would be to gift-wrap a confession of treachery and air-shuttle it to Thundercracker's feet. Starscream bit down. "Of course," Starscream managed, trying for 'urbane' and landing on 'strained.' "I want for nothing more than to be a credit to my trine."

"Oh, but you are," Megatron said, voice become deeper and richer as the deceptively mocking tone took over. "You are." He even managed to sound possessive, like he was gloating.

It was a masterful performance; Starscream was so on edge that if Megatron had ordered him to take out Trieste all by himself at this very moment, he would have. Would have tried, anyway. Tried and failed. But trying and failing seemed like they would be far preferable to disappointing Megatron right now. Starscream shuddered, wondering yet again what Megatron could be planning. This indulgent behavior was strange. The only thing scarier to contemplate than this all being some sick test was the possibility that it _wasn't_, and that this throwaway terrorist attack had no purpose other than gratifying Megatron personally. If that were the case, Starscream was certain he could count on being treated to many encores.

Presuming Starscream survived today's run, of course.

Up ahead was a gradated wall of night, and around them rose clouds… clouds, real ones, unusual for Cybertron. Starscream wondered in his growing gnawing terror if Megatron even knew how to navigate them. It wouldn't surprise him at all for Megatron to freestyle it all the way, improvising flight skills completely outside of his root programming. It wasn't like Megatron was a flight mech; he wasn't even a piloting mech. Among the many undeniably frightening things about Megatron was the fact that even with his indifferent baseline skills, Megatron would probably find a way to pull it off, by brute force. As if he could tame the very air.

"In four hundred twenty astroseconds, this ship will be scuttled. Prepare for emergency ejection."

And thus, the mysterious plan began to take shape. A mysterious plan which apparently involved destroying their excellent if slow transport, which despite its flaws had many layers of protective armor to separate them from what would sure to be assault by a legion of Autobot air missiles. Suddenly escape appeared to be a hundred light years away.

"….Just, for my information, may I ask," Starscream paused, considering the best way to pitch his next word. "…Why?"

"Certainly." This was no good. Megatron sounded far too calm, particularly considering the gruesome scenarios scrolling through Starscream's probability calculators. _Polite_. Megatron polite, at game or at war, was a creature to be avoided at all cost. "Best to take out the city's main control tower while we are at it. It's not acceptable to simply offline a gaggle of Autobots for sport if there is no material gain to be achieved."

Indeed. Starscream's panic revved right up to the edge of his personal excitation threshold. Once triggered, there was no going back.

Oh well.

These last hundred astroseconds felt like an eternity. Numb, Starscream belted himself into his seat, and watched as the specified tower grew uncomfortably close in the forward viewshield. Megatron was already sitting back with his arms crossed, smiling as he let the shuttle's computer take over the terminal navigation. Below lay Trieste shrouded in dusk. Despite having synced his computer to the shuttle's so as to have an accurate countdown, Starscream was jolted by the sudden separation as he and Megatron were ejected upwards with their seats. They shot up and away from the kamikaze arc of the doomed shuttle.

Starscream was releasing the restraints binding him to his seat when the far canyon wall bloomed in fire.

"Don't transform yet," Megatron signaled, switching over to commlink as their upward trajectory stalled. Startled, Starscream felt himself begin to succumb to gravity before he onlined the flight routines of his robot mode. "You'll crash if you try to navigate the downdraft while shooting at civilians."

Ah. True. Too true. Starscream nodded, and after a moment followed Megatron as he dove, plunging face and arms forward as if lunging for prey. The many lights of Trieste shone like a netted cone of stars in the massive chasm below.

"Our mission objective: random slaughter. Shoot everything. But…" Megatron's tone was smug. "First, tell me all that you see."

Starscream gaped as he considered the surroundings swallowing them, wondering how he could possibly distill it into essentials before the artillery fire began. It was clear that a major part of this test was going to be forcing him to carry on some kind of detached conversation while at the same time struggling for his life. Yes. It was much better to consider this a test than to entertain the notion that this was Megatron's idea of fun. "Three main partitions. Primary defensive cannons are all situated around the upper rim, except… yes, there are five along the lower walls. All… aiming… at us."

"As expected," Megatron mused as he began to fire, beginning to take out the cannons above the terraced rim. Oh yes. Starscream aimed his null ray. At something. Anything. "That is all?"

What did that even mean?! "I.. I don't know what you want," Starscream stammered. "I'd better be able to say if you told me what you were looking for."

"It's not enough to pick out the major threats," Megatron said, battlelust betrayed by the wicked twist of his body as he flipped in the air, finding new targets in the far trench wall. "You need to see the sentinel guardians down there," he pointed, "who are sending calls for help to Praxus' capital city." Alarms bellowed and oily thick smoke was already rising from the wounded city. The lumbering many-armed guardian robots were laboring to bring their transmission needles online as Megatron casually shot them down one by one. "Pathetic," Megatron editorialized. "You need to see the mass exodus of civilians is taking them to the western sector… there… that must be where the most defensible buildings are located. And there." Megatron pointed again, this time to the north side. "That group of Autobots. Sniveling cowards. One of them must be the leader." He promptly began shooting at the tiny specks of sentients off in the distance.

What was the common thread? To what were those examples leading? "You want to maximize the kill count." Starscream sounded suddenly flat as the truth hit him. A truth so petty it was almost spectacular.

Megatron did not answer.

And then, finally… the counterattack. Speculative thoughts neatly shattered, Starscream dodged as best as he could. Megatron was ahead of him, avoiding a dozen separate missile bursts with an almost acrobatic grace, whereas Starscream was doing his best trying to keep up with all of the system alerts flashing through his battle processors. "I'll be happy to get any," Starscream added, incoming munitions seizing his attention as they whipped through the sky like overcharged red comets. "Good luck."

Starscream was sincere. He really hoped Megatron took out hundreds of the slagging vermin. With his null ray Starscream scrambled the targeting systems on several of the missiles headed his way, while trying to simultaneously send cluster bombs off towards his attackers. They struck the buildings with a satisfying report, and distant cries rose up in waves following his strafing fire, but it was impossible for him to know if any of the inhabitants offlined. This situation was dangerous, deadly.

Starscream abandoned his pride as his concentration narrowed to one clear point.

_I could die but I won't. I won't!_

"Good luck?" Megatron sounded incredulous, and then, amazingly, he transformed. "You're going to be the one shooting here." Starscream had never seen Megatron's alt-mode up close before; without even thinking, he grabbed for the falling pistol, swiping desperately several times before he caught it. "Take out at least five hundred or all of your increased rations will be rescinded! And expect to spend some time in the brig if you can't manage to offline at least a paltry fifty. I will be keeping score."

Not count; score. Score.

This was definitely a game. _To Megatron_. "Do you think I care about that when we could _die_?" Starscream screeched shrilly, ignoring commlink for some good old-fashioned wailing. "I don't know about you, but I am rather averse to that. You know. _Dying_." Starscream went into extreme evasive maneuvers, fumbling over Megatron's alt-mode until he found the trigger, and just started shooting wherever. Well, the west, maybe. That was good. Megatron said a lot of Autobots were there, right?

"Don't worry about me!" Megatron's scolding tone vanished; he sounded positively chipper over this pronouncement. "I'm indestructible in this form."

"I'm not worried YOU LUNATIC." Indestructible? What the slag was that? Unfair, that's what! Starscream didn't even realize for a moment that he'd shouted a full-on insult at his judgmental and deadly leader. Whatever the hell this was, he wasn't going to die, he wouldn't let himself die, even if that meant that after this was all over he needed to sign on to some sort of humiliating Neutral witness protection program and fly off to galaxies far, far away. Starscream pulled Megatron close to his chest as he executed an insane banking swoop which should by all reason only be performed in tetra jet mode. It didn't matter.

No more servile kowtowing. Not when he was going to slagging die. Starscream became indiscriminate, frying almost the entire western block during his descent. From on high a rain of fire; of course. It would only become worse the further in. "Are we going all the way to the Pit, Mighty Leader?"

"Why not?" Megatron asked, still sounding as pleased as if Starscream had given him an expensive slavebot all wrapped in a bow. "We've got a full half breem until the shields lock us in."

Oh, in that case.

It was official: Megatron was diagnostically insane.

Not a ground mech… not a flight mech. What the slag WAS Megatron, anyway? What did it mean, to be what he was?

"Fine." If Megatron was just going to sit back and watch like some pampered Autobot senator then Starscream was going to just take over and let the ruins of his previously stellar career catch up with him later. Where were those leaders? Where were those guardian bots? Starscream was going to liquidate them all. This whole city could burn and he would rejoice. Assuming he made it out alive, or even if he didn't, he was going to make sure that even if Megatron could hang him for his insolence, he wouldn't dare touch him for his flaws. There would be no flaws.

For several astroseconds all that existed was the negative space defined by the predicted trajectories of every Autobot laser, of every missile, of every bomb. He couldn't afford to shoot a single munition down, not if he was going to destroy every Autobot he possibly could. So that meant flying into the negative space, twisting and turning as he kept shooting, relying on his peerless battle programming and highly specialized reflex weapon systems, for once existing solely inside the raw code.

One good thing: Megatron appeared to possess limitless firepower. And he was strong. Why hadn't Starscream noticed how destructive Megatron's cannon was before? Was he actually stronger in weapon mode? A point to consider later; Starscream queued all non-essential thoughts, quarantining them from his short-term buffer as he kept moving. The slums at the trench floor were predictably abandoned; Starscream turned his back to the rapidly approaching ground as he directed Megatron's fire up. To where the remaining Autobot patriots were. No time to think.

Touch down, ground zero. It happened so quickly, Starscream almost didn't realize there was nowhere further to fall as his back slammed into cold metal. Suddenly, he was still, looking up at a tunnel of blooming death falling down like the ripples of fountain. "Satisfied?" he asked. Odd; suddenly he sounded so tired. Spent. A distant part of himself noticed that this was not at all like him. "What now?"

"What now?" Megatron was back to sounding incredulous, as if Starscream were deeply stupid and ignoring an obvious point. "You transform and get us out of here."

Okay, so maybe he was.


	5. Flipped Tide

Resentment made him testy, still. Starscream's mood was undergoing a slow depolarization, which made him prickly and honest in a way that only the aftermath of sheer panic allowed him to be.

He'd never flown that fast before. Never. Exceeding the speed of sound by several multiples, the rumor of his return lagged terribly as he emerged to escape the ceiling of Trieste. Of course, Megatron escaped along with him, clipped under his fuselage like the manic exploitative bastard he was.

As Starscream slowed to land, Megatron detached smartly, a proud snap to his return transformation betraying his persistent glee. _His_ enjoyment, of course, was completely uncontaminated with terror. Distantly Starscream allowed himself to be pleased with this fact, having perhaps successfully clawed one rung higher on the golden ladder of his destiny.

It was difficult to relish such pleasure, however, while still wrestling with a new, previously unknown and currently unspeakable desire to strangle Megatron's core spark into extinction.

_Were those tactics?_

_He calls those tactics?!_

Grounding, Starscream returned to his own primary mode gripped by a withering internal storm of disgust. Whatever the hell that had been, he was so over it. All he wanted now were his ridiculously politicized rations and a good long recharge.

"Hold, Starscream."

Caught up in his own inner drama, Starscream hadn't even realized that he had landed ahead of Megatron and was even now marching single-mindedly to his barracks, having turned his back to his leader; indeed, having completely forgotten him. He should have been feeling dread at his oversight, but both he and Megatron were strange right now, so all he did was pause, shrugging as he turned in a slow and insolent manner.

"Yes?"

"The true self emerges, I see." Megatron chuckled, not put out at all. "You are more of a coward than I thought." A pause as thoughts were gathered. What ostentation. "Unexpected, although perhaps not entirely so. You were a scientist previously, were you not?"

"I was." Clearly a curse to carry with him to his tomb. Starscream started walking again when Megatron caught up, keeping pace equally. "I like my life." His rebuke was watered-down; already his performance accelerators were slowing, and it occurred to Starscream that he would shortly be horrified by his behavior (specifically, his lack of artifice) in these last thousand astroseconds.

"Such as it is." Megatron was also coming down off his high, mellowing from the spike of violent bliss. His own powers of rebuke were returning, and the condescension of his tone was far more like his normal self. However, Megatron was still clearly pleased. "Surely you dream of something higher?"

Game on. Wearily, Starscream responded in the negative. The only correct response was to lie. Since he was ambitious, it behooved him to deny it—just the same as it behooved those slackers he called wingmates to pretend they had any ambitions when they clearly did not. It was the Decepticon way.

"You are amusing." Apparently the sum of the day's nonsense was a passing grade. Starscream found it within himself to accept this assessment with a brisk nod. "Consider yourself commended for a superb display of survival under fire."

Not heroism. Not merit. Not cunning or swiftness or sheer nerve: survival. Perhaps there was a lesson in this as well. With a small sigh, Starscream felt the last of his protective irritability leave him. Back to brazen narcissism and underhanded displays of respect, then. "Not at all. It is an honor to serve."

"That's what they all say," Megatron replied, the smile not leaving his lips as he looked off into the distance. "I suppose it is a useful conceit."

"You mean it's not?" Starscream asked. It was a bit surprising for Megatron to admit something so obviously true. Worrisome: clearly the ulterior meaning on this one was so deep as to have strata. Starscream could not keep the surprise from his voice, interested despite himself. "Or rather, that is all that it is?"

"Everything we do is conceit." The door to the main hanger at the barracks slid open as they stepped inside, Starscream taking a step back to defer, as was proper. "The Autobots lie to themselves and call their conceit 'ideals,' but in the end it all boils back to what is useful and what is hollow vanity."

As someone whose entire existence up to this point could be referred to as a form of hollow vanity, Starscream felt he ought to be annoyed by this clever insult, curved and barbed like a harpoon intended only for him. But no; he was too tired still. The fight had temporarily drained him of the ability to pretend that certain things didn't hit home. Or to care when they did. "I'm sure hollow vanity has its uses, too," was all he said, slowing. They had passed through the large open-air warehouse and were approaching the corridors leading to private quarters. He fully intended to turn in and expected Megatron to excuse him momentarily.

Megatron laughed, clear and apparently with actual pleasure. So was Starscream the court jester now? Somehow it wouldn't be a surprise. "Keep believing that," he said, even going so far as to pat Starscream on the shoulder. "Now. Go report to Shockwave. He'll need to update the overall tactical algorithms. Our little exercise in target practice yielded some surprisingly good results."

Starscream stopped cold as Megatron waved him off, continuing on to the barracks. "And don't forget to leave out the part where you call me a lunatic," Megatron added, accompanied by more of that confoundingly sincere laughter. "Shockwave doesn't take kindly to insults directed my way."

_And you… do?_

No way. Starscream wanted to go huddle in a corner and bathe his braincase in liquid nitrogen. Truth, falsehood, sincerity, deceit… Starscream decided he couldn't tell which was which anymore.

In a way, it was a clear compliment to allow him to make the report. Such tasks were never beneath any intelligent leader, because in theory no one's observations and insights would be more valuable. But had this actually been any kind of tactical coup? It was true they'd offlined many Autobot lives, but civilian lives were cheap: military targets were a different story. Nevertheless, even if the end result provided only small dividends, it was unusual for Megatron to place himself above such tasks. Very stupid of him, _unless_ he honestly trusted Starscream in some significant fashion.

But did he? And setting that aside, would it even be better for him if Megatron did? No one with any intelligence at all wanted to be trusted blindly. And if Megatron was basing his trust on some real value he saw in Starscream, it was still an extremely dangerous position for him to be in. Not if he was trusted and didn't know why.

This all brought him back to his original dilemma. Megatron was onto something. At the very least, something was up, and Megatron had caught him up in some game in which only he was the master of the rules. If only Starscream could decode the rules too! Then maybe he could buy some advantages that he himself could trust.

The first step was to report to Shockwave. Always do as you are told; this was the one failsafe rule to fall back on when everything else seemed murky and filled with treachery. Starscream made an effort to shake off his fatigue as he changed direction, turning to leave the barracks and present to Shockwave's station in Decepticon Central Command. On the way to the barracks he and Megatron had passed several other Decepticons, none especially well known to him, who had all looked at them curiously (with respect for Megatron) as they passed. Now they all stared at him as he backtracked over where he'd been, and few of the stares were friendly. Most were openly hostile, predatory in that voracious way he could all too easily identify with.

Each one of them believed he had his own golden ladder. A useful conceit that kept them all going.

Although he took no detours, Starscream didn't exactly rush himself over to where Shockwave was. A more supercilious, selectively diffident, otherwise overbearing bot he had yet to find. Shockwave was Megatron's second-in-command, and there was little doubt that _he_ was trusted. Begrudgingly, but only to himself, Starscream admitted that Shockwave was skilled, and his outward displays of loyalty were always unimpeachable. But if being around Megatron always made Starscream feel like he was trapped in a bell jar, being around Shockwave was worse: pinned, as if he were some soft and disgusting organic creature to be picked apart and vivisected.

It was the arrogance of his faction that placed Central Command in a high, assailable tower, with an almost delicately fluted base and glass windows circling the top level where Megatron worked out his allegedly brilliant dark strategies with his closest advisors and favorite sycophants. The view was pretty great, but more impressive was the sheer reek of power. Distaste for Shockwave didn't stop Starscream from hoping that he'd be one of those favored sycophants one day.

"Oh, it's you." Such was Shockwave's greeting. Starscream stepped off the elevator to the highest level, entering without bothering to offer a salute. He was on a direct assignment from Megatron, which meant that he got to be a little cocky. This didn't mean, however, that Shockwave was going to make things easy for him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The scorn was palpable; Starscream sarcastically wondered to himself if he should swoon under the pressure. "Perhaps you forgot that I was just out with Megatron? He ordered me to report."

"Really." Despite the suddenly bored tone, Starscream could tell that Shockwave was surprised. It was interesting that Shockwave found this surprising, and gratifying too. It meant the privilege was perhaps even more impressive than he'd thought. Before Starscream could begin to bask, Shockwave broke into his incipient reveries with an impatient, "Well?"

Oh, fine. This earned Shockwave an ingratiating grin. Shockwave _was_ a superior officer, after all. "Mission to Trieste successful. All primary first degree defensive weaponry destroyed, one military outpost annihilated. 682 kills." Starscream had Megatron to thank for knowing the kill count; his own count was deferred pending review of his recent memory cache. His grin twisted viciously, because he had saved the best for last. "Megatron credits all kills but 52 to me."

For the first time in Starscream's memory, Shockwave was stunned into true silence. Not the silence that meant Starscream was beneath contempt, or the silence that meant that Starscream needed to leave now. Not even the silence that indicated respect for a well made argument. Starscream could tell that Shockwave couldn't even begin to decide what to make of this information. It was alright. He waited patiently, this time basking quite seriously and with a lot of enjoyable self-regard.

_How do you enjoy being the one on the dissecting plate?_

It was a wonderful change.

Finally, Shockwave put 315 and 315 together and came up with the reason for how this could be. He could not hide the surprise over the conclusion, either. "Megatron… allowed you to fire him?" So gratifying. "_You_?"

Why not? "Of course," Starscream said, arms outstretched, palms up. His gesture said, plain as day, 'how could you possibly doubt me?' In his mind Starscream was not so sanguine. Instead he felt a little twinge of surprise, an odd sense of recognition, as if he'd honed in on something important without knowing exactly what it was. He had expected Shockwave to be annoyed with this news, but to be this surprised-- so surprised that he couldn't hide it-- that was unexpected. Perhaps he could learn more if he twisted in the knife. "It was fun," Starscream said, crudely and even disrespectfully, hiding the fact that, for him, it hadn't been fun at all.

"Impossible," Shockwave said, mustering his second wind and deploying tactical disgust.

Or was it? That repulsion sounded rather convincing. If Starscream had to parse it, he'd say that Shockwave was jealous. Very, very interesting.

"What, you've never?" Starscream allowed sympathy to worm itself into his voice, as well as oily fake concern that he didn't even bother to hide as fake. "And you're a weapon yourself. I suppose he's never fired you then either?"

"Of course he has!" Shockwave responded defensively, outraged. Amazing. "Many, many times!"

"And yet he never returned the favor." Starscream looked upwards, acting politely embarrassed as if he were not enjoying this reverse-face to every particle of his core. "Maybe he just hadn't gotten around to it yet." This was a role Starscream could play forever. It was like recharging without even having to endure a power-down.

"And overstep my bounds? Lord Megatron is far too-- " Finally Shockwave got a hold of himself. "Unlike you, I respect my position."

Far too what? Starscream was dying to know. Shockwave's save was pitiful; how could he have been disrespecting his position when Megatron was the one who ordered it and made it happen? The argument was so transparently illogical that it was clearly meant to shield some other, deeper truth that Shockwave didn't even know how to hide. Something that Shockwave was scrambling to make sense of himself. Starscream knew intuitively that his only chance to find out what that truth was would be to press for it now, while Shockwave was uncharacteristically off-balance. If he tried for subtlety then his chance would be lost.

This was no time to play the obedient lackey, he decided. It was dangerous, because Shockwave was his superior and was trusted by Megatron, and could therefore screw him over royally once the dust had settled. But his ambitions almost required him to gamble on his intuition. His spark told him this was truth to be uncovered at all costs.

"I respect my position," Starscream said coldly, turning to an imperiousness that was his birthright. "Perhaps it is you who… lacks respect." A bluff. A stone cold bluff. But Starscream knew he could pull it off because somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew that the respect he was demanding was nothing other than his due.

Truthfully, Starscream half expected Shockwave to order him to report to the brig for his insolence, if not transform and shoot him outright. But this was not what happened. Shockwave startled, stepping back slightly, and then lowered his head in defeat. "I'm sorry. You're right."

_He's sorry? I'm right?_

It was everything Starscream could do to maintain the facade. Falter now, and he could still lose it all. Not only the unknown truth that he suspected was there, but his position and even very clearly his life were in danger. If Shockwave even suspected him for bluffing, he was as good as dead.

And more than anyone he had ever known, Starscream feared dying. In the brightest, deepest part of his spark, he knew this to be true.

"You're testing my patience," Starscream griped, putting on his most irritating airs. "Should I continue my report, or would you prefer I inform Megatron that you refused to take it?"

"No, no. I'm sorry. Starscream." That was probably the first time Shockwave had ever called him by name. He sounded so chastened. Starscream even felt a moment of something approximating pity in the midst of his gnawing terror, realizing that somehow blindly he'd fallen into a chasm more dangerous and deadly than the one at Trieste. This was not a good place for either of them to be, he realized. But now that he'd started, there was no way to turn back.

So when Shockwave brokenly continued, "It's just-- " Starscream prompted him immediately with, "Just?" He had no intention of continuing with his report if he could get Shockwave to spill instead.

"It's just. Megatron never told me. I swear, I did not know."

Being fired at by thousands of angry Autobots had been safer. If Megatron had never told Shockwave, his most trusted advisor, clearly something was going on here that was either too secret for Megatron to share, or… worse… something Megatron himself did not know. It had to be the former. The later was far too frightening to contemplate, so Starscream dismissed the possibility out of hand.

Starscream soldiered on. "Fair enough," he said smoothly. "I wonder why that was, though? He trusts you a great deal."

"It's because I'm bonded to him," Shockwave confessed, simultaneously wretched and appreciative. "I'm sure he didn't want to burden me."

Awful. This was horrible. Was Starscream truly getting Shockwave to confess to a truth that he didn't even _understand_? What did that even mean, that Shockwave had bonded to Megatron? Starscream had never heard of such a thing. It sounded indecent. Almost obscene.

Logic. Science. Starscream fell back on his oldest and most reliable cognitive programming, the part of himself he trusted the most even though those skills were too dangerously weak to be a part of his active processing core. Bonding… the word implied a connection. Perhaps some spiritual connection, but such a thing was so massively outside of probability that Starscream dismissed it out of hand. Far more likely to be a special programmed trait, or skill. Like Skywarp's quantum leaps, except… not flashy. Something that could be hidden, or which manifested itself in non-obvious ways. Shockwave was bonded to Megatron… did that imply the reverse was true? Not necessarily, he decided.

The clues were all here. Starscream was thinking furiously, not wanting his hesitation to be noticed. Fortunately, the science programming allowed him to make full use of his processing speed, directing all of his power internally so that he could solve the problem in an instant. It put him out of touch with his body, just for a moment, which was what made it so unreliable and dangerous for him to use in his new role as a warrior, but this was too important. For a few astroseconds he became functionally unresponsive.

His calculations told him that his silence would be taken as a normal conversational pause.

Megatron had used Shockwave "many, many times." But apparently the reverse was not true. This implied an imbalance in power. Likelihood was that the bond went one way. Furthermore, Shockwave had been utterly disgusted that Megatron had allowed Starscream to fire him as a weapon. Implication was that Megatron had never allowed anyone else to do so before; Shockwave surely would have known.

Did this mean Megatron was in turn bonded to him? He, Starscream? Odds on yes.

Megatron and Shockwave were both weapons. Was this a skill only available to then? Wait—could this be called a skill? What were the advantages? An imbalance in power tipping away from one's favor could in no way be considered an advantage. But it was illogical that such a programmed trait would exist if there were no benefits whatsoever. If Shockwave was bonded to Megatron, then… Yes. The benefit was to Megatron.

The bond existed for the user. It was a form of control. Why would such a restriction…?

Megatron was invulnerable. As a weapon apparently he could not be destroyed, or even scratched, by conventional munitions. This would explain the lack of fear. Furthermore, his design was… yes. To destroy. The restriction must have been put in place by the Decepticons who had originally assembled him, and his kind. A check on power otherwise too dangerous to allow go unleashed.

The truth unraveled in Starscream's mind. Megatron had bonded to him. For some reason. Megatron's programming had given him an advantage. This was in all likelihood a truth that Megatron would never want him to know.

The only question left was why. But that question could be tabled for another time.

Seamlessly, Starscream closed his science core, and returning to normal time, he smiled in mock sympathy, but with some real understanding. This was still something extremely frightening, for him, but understanding gave him power, and that power dissolved some of his fear.

The way out of this conversation, at least, was clear. "Very well," Starscream said, sounding both bored and indulgent. "I promise not to mention this to him."

Shockwave didn't have much of a face, but his single optic flashed. "Thank you," he said, sounding repulsively grateful. "Thank you."

No, thank _you_, Starscream thought silently, but his only outward response was a slight inclination of his head, an acknowledgment from superior to inferior.

The only thing left was to test his theory out.

++

 

Decepticons declared celebrations like they declared war; suddenly, without exceptional fanfare but intensely obtrusive all the same. Festival by fiat. The ranks were filled with antisocial miscreants and mischief-makers who required orders (and the seduction of high grade energon) in order to properly participate, deflecting the secretive brooding/brazen scheming that most preferred.

Starscream, however, required no encouragement to mingle with the others. It gave him valuable opportunities to boast. Furthermore, although he enjoyed celebrations, he especially enjoyed those thrown in his honor.

_Technically_ Megatron had not specified any reason for the occasion, but Starscream knew it all was for him. It was only the day after their shared raid on Trieste, and report of his magnificent accomplishments had spread far and wide (he knew this was so because Thundercracker had congratulated him, and by design born of indifference, Thundercracker was always the last to know anything). It was only fitting that everyone be gathered to fete him as was his due.

Unlike some of Megatron's parties which only involved the officers, this one was extended to include all the locally stationed troops. Therefore it was held outdoors on the parade grounds, a flat and open area which was usually used for melee practice or as a staging ground for shuttle launch; it was night.

Starscream was now fully recharged. After his debriefing with Shockwave he'd returned to his quarters, reclining into the wall-pod which was similar to a chair but with an extensive array of charge ports, which sped up the job as well as facilitating any simple self-repair his system required. Starscream spent longer than usual in stasis, clearing his cache to excise redundant or unnecessary data as well as cataloguing and indexing the information he wanted to save. This time, there was a lot to process.

_Is Megatron truly… mine?_

Informed supposition only took him so far. Starscream accessed the worldwide information feed as well as the more exclusive (and more highly monitored) Decepticon databases, to see if there were any useful references. There were none. Either the subject was simply too esoteric to merit inclusion, or (more likely) the data he wanted was censored. Perhaps even deleted. Were he Megatron and a leader of a powerful army on Cybertron, that's what he would do, so it hadn't surprised him when his covert search turned up no hits.

Megatron himself would have to be the source of the information he wanted, Starscream decided. All he needed to do was confirm that such a bond existed; he would let his natural sneakiness and duplicity do the rest.

It would also be good to put Megatron on notice that he knew. It was his conclusion that Megatron was hiding it from him, which was a smart tactic. But now that the information was, so to speak, "out there," it would be pointless if he didn't somehow make use of it, and besides…whatever this bond was, it seemed to make Shockwave ridiculously servile and to make Megatron… well, at the very least deeply amused by him. Starscream suspected he could get away with some pretty outrageous things were he to get up the nerve to try.

In the end Starscream could not determine the trigger, why this all had happened in the first place. Why him, but also why at _all_. There was no way it was voluntary on Megatron's part; there was no rational reason to believe that Megatron would choose to submit to anyone, let alone him. Ego wanted this to be all about his own merits. He desperately wanted to believe it. But it didn't have to be, and in the end it didn't matter.

It didn't matter! Starscream's spark sang with joy over this final analysis. Was it a fluke? Was it a lucky chance? It didn't matter because the deed was done. And by the way Shockwave had carried on, clearly not something easily undone. It might even be impossible.

Starscream ended up wasting the rest of his time thinking about Megatron, what he was like. Why this was so scary and wonderful all at the same time. There was nothing insignificant about him. He was reckless and heedless, to be sure, but Megatron could back up his rash actions with a powerful presence.

_Megatron… belongs to me._

At the party, everyone was holding their small cubes of energon, occasionally refilling from the tanks generously set up on one side of the grounds. Most everyone had settled into little cliques, sitting or sprawling on the ground near their mates, carousing or talking trash. Often a bit of both.

"Next time, you should bring me along if you _really_ want to break Autobot cities," Rumble boasted, already at least halfway drunk. "Me an' Frenzy will rock 'em nice n' tasty, and then all you'll need to do is fly around and look pretty."

"Tempting," Starscream said dryly, distracted as he looked around for Megatron. Where was he? He could see his wingmates nearby, playing some kind of game of Dare with the other Seekers and, apparently, Astrotrain. Well, Skywarp wasn't with them so much as milling around nearby, staggering from group to group, surely sowing mischief wherever he went.

"I'm serious!" Rumble was protesting, and Starscream predicted that any moment now he would break out his piledrivers and show off were he not appeased, taking the remaining standing drunks off their feet and inciting generalized mayhem. "Frenzy, tell 'em I'm serious!"

Frenzy, who was sitting by silently, nodded without further comment.

"Fine!" Starscream grumbled. "We'll drop you off at the bottom and let you take care of the rest."

"Now that's more like it!" Rumble beamed, pleased to have his strength recognized. Normally this was where Starscream would further point out that Rumble would be creating his own tomb were he to let himself get roped in by such idiotic tactics, but he was finding it difficult to focus his full attention on his companion when he had actual business to conduct.

Shockwave was over by the fuel tanks, monitoring the outlay of energon like a miser… but Starscream had noticed him sending occasional unreadable glances his way, so he'd turned his back to that side of the parade grounds. Over on the opposite side of the grounds was Soundwave, equally impassive although he was a miser of a different sort, greedily collecting whatever scraps of thought he could scavenge from anyone unwary enough to leave his mind unguarded. But where was…

_…Megatron?_

Suddenly, Starscream saw him. Megatron was walking around, stopping by to say a few words to everyone, but clearly making it a point not to stop anywhere too long. It looked like… yes. Soon he would be over where the Seekers were, which was nearby.

Excellent. All was in readiness.

But before he could do anything, suddenly a shadow appeared over him, cutting off the star-lit sky.

"Hiya Screamer!" Skywarp was behind him but leaning _over_ him. "Mind if I join you and the squirts?"

How could he say no to his superior officer? Starscream nodded, but with a slight wince knowing what was coming next.

"Squirts?"

Rumble was on his feet, staring down Skywarp with outraged intensity. Before Starscream could suffer an internal meltdown over the incipient destruction of his plans, Skywarp wordlessly held out an extra cube of energon to Rumble and proceeded to sit down next to Starscream. "Easy, squirt. I come in peace."

Rumble eyed Skywarp suspiciously, but then took what was offered, tipping half of the contents into Frenzy's empty cube before chugging down the rest. Skywarp, however, promptly turned his attention to Starscream now that the twin cassettes were distracted. "So… how was it?" His voice and expression were insinuating. There was no doubt to what he was referring.

Oh, this was useful.

And so Starscream launched into a full and perhaps exaggerated account of the previous days events, making sure to highlight the excellence of his performance and downplaying any report of his inner mood. As he was doing so, he couldn't help but follow Megatron's progress. Now he was talking to Blitzwing. Now he was talking to Astrotrain and the Seeker group, looking stern… obviously it was time to break up the rowdiness. Reaching down to pat Thundercracker's shoulder as he walked by, apparently deciding that was enough conversation for someone so naturally taciturn. And then…

"Come on," Skywarp was pleading, Starscream's account having trailed off as he was looking off into the distance. "This is the good part! I want to hear all about how you totally cracked up under pressure!"

Starscream winced, and then tightened the grip on his energon cube. Was that how Megatron decided to sell it? How insulting!

But… Nevermind. No matter. Skywarp was giving him the opening he needed. "Why don't we ask Megatron?" Starscream said, purposefully pitching his voice high and loud, looking this way and that as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

As expected, this drew the attention of a few people in their immediate vicinity. Most importantly, Megatron also turned his head.

Starscream turned to look over his shoulder, and smiled. The very picture of nonchalance. "Come here, Megatron," he said, voice sweet and lightsome.

_Do as you are told_.

Megatron took a few steps his way, and then stumbled to a stop. Starscream could feel his spark pounding inside of him. Megatron stood still for a moment, his eyes meeting Starscream's, and there was a slight tightening of his expression. The stop only lasted a moment, but it was long enough. Megatron continued his approach as if nothing had happened.

Starscream's smile widened. "Skywarp was wanting to hear how… valiantly I performed under pressure," he said, low and calm, with just the right touch of wry annoyance. "Would you care to do the honors?"

In a moment, Megatron was at his side. Starscream was still looking up, expression outwardly adoring, outwardly in awe and impressed, ready to hang on every word.

And he would, too. Hang on each and every word. He felt like he could listen to Megatron all night.

"Very well," Megatron said. His own smile, which had started to spread across his face as he began to walk over, had stopped abruptly when he did. Now as he looked down, he met Starscream's smile with a slow lazy nod, expression suddenly implacable. "Which part did he want to hear: the part where you screeched at me in terror, or the part where you flailed like a new recruit unfamiliar with the basics of shooting a gun?"

_Gotcha._

"All of it, Mighty Megatron," Starscream said modestly, voice low, becomingly abashed and chastened. Reassuring.

_I want all of you._

"All of it."

_You're mine._


	6. The Terror of Death

_What is destruction? In what can be found its joy? _

Weary, Megatron swayed a little as he stepped into his private quarters. The room was dimly lit at baseline, and he did not dial up the illumination. He crossed the room to sit in his recharge chair. He did not sit back or plug in. Instead, he leaned forward, taking a moment to look around. Unlike most Decepticons, his selection of possessions was impressive: amulets and talismans, crystals of powers and spoils of conquest. A golden icon in the corner, Autobot heads decorating the walls.

The room was spacious. In its own ostentatious and yet austere way, beautiful.

Megatron dropped his elbows to his knees and joined his hands in the space between, cupping one hand in the other. Some time passed, and he offlined his optics, slouching like a discarded dollbot.

What had Starscream done?

As if caught in a trap, Megatron's memories cycled back to the moment that Starscream called out to him. "Come." He had responded automatically, feet moving of their own accord. The word had filled him with such a feeling as he'd never experienced before. It wasn't even something he could name. He'd felt warm, filled with a lossless buoyancy. He had even started to smile; he remembered that part quite well.

But even before he'd taken two steps the whole thing hit him, and he realized what he was doing. And he realized it wasn't a request. He'd stopped; he'd looked at Starscream. Why?

If he'd responded carelessly, taking it as a request, Megatron never would have questioned himself. Stopping made it real; searching Starscream's too-innocent expression, he'd not been able to discern his intentions. Something was up with him, without a doubt. But had Starscream actually meant to phrase things that way, or was it just another instance of his clumsy, over-reaching personality using the wrong words? Starscream had only wanted Megatron to tell Skywarp about his amusing performance, after all; if he'd wanted to order his leader around, wouldn't he have attempted it on something a bit more worthwhile?

Perhaps. But Starscream's eyes were on him at that moment when he stopped; Megatron had felt himself being measured, judged. As someone who was far more accustomed to being the one doing the measuring and judging, he'd been uncomfortable with that. But not nearly as uncomfortable as he was with the fact that apparently he'd responded to Starscream's throwaway words as if they were a command.

He could make no sense of it. The warm sensation had dropped, replaced with something leaden and stiff. Not wanting to draw any more attention, nor able to find any satisfying explanations, he'd gone forward, this time based on his own will and out of his own desire to find out what was going on.

He still did not know what was going on.

And yet.

Megatron had never forgotten what he was made for, and the constraints that were built into him, programming restrictions so entangled with his spark that even if he'd tried to transfer to a new body, he would probably carry the code with him. And he'd not been so naïve as to think that all he needed was a strong will in order to conquer his basic nature.

But all he'd done was respond to one simple phrase. Was that proof of anything? Could that be sufficient to show that the thing he'd fought all this time had finally happened?

Except. Megatron lowered his head, slumping his forehead against his hands. That really wasn't all of it, was it.

A look back over his most recent activities made him realize that he'd behaved quite foolishly in regards to Starscream. Foolishly, and out of character: it was not usual for him to pay so much attention to a single recruit, not even one who'd gotten himself appointed to his personal guard. It had not seemed obvious at the time, because Starscream's advancement had been exceptional in many ways, and until his latest promotion, none of it had been engineered by Megatron.

Was it Starscream then? Had that unexpected mix of talent, potential, and ineptitude been his undoing? It would never have been his choice to promote someone like Starscream, after all; Starscream had come up the ranks based almost entirely on Thundercracker's recommendation. Megatron's preferences were always for soldiers of experience and skill, ones who had proven their stripes time and again in battle. Not those who were still untempered. Megatron liked his troops to be predictable and reliable; Starscream was clearly neither.

To Starscream's credit, he was a quick study, and ignorance never made him hesitant, as it did with so many other new recruits. His eagerness to please made him game to try anything, and his unconventional background gave him a perspective and insights uncommon and often contradictory to those of other top officers.

Megatron was not an idiot; he tended to defer to Seekers when it came to trine matters. When he'd asked the well-tempered Thundercracker why Starscream, the answer had been simple. "I like the way he cuts the sky."

It had sounded good at the time.

Prudence and curiosity; these were the reasons for Megatron's initial close surveillance of Starscream. The Seeker had been run through the standard background check and had willingly taken, and passed, one of Soundwave's notorious telepathic loyalty tests. But for whatever reason, neither Thundercracker's assessment nor Soundwave's testing had set Megatron's mind at ease.

Running Starscream through his paces was a way to lay down clear numbers on Starscream's limitations, but now Megatron realized it had been a lot more than that.

He _transformed_ for Starscream.

The last time he'd done that was back at the Academy, and only under the direct orders of his then-superiors. It had been so long for him, Megatron had almost forgotten what it was like. The sheer power under his command.

Even though it had been so very long, doing so had felt completely natural at the time. Starscream had needed some prompting at Trieste. Mere survival was not enough; it was never enough. Conquest was the only way to ensure survival not just for the moment, but for tomorrow and all tomorrows thereafter. It never occurred to Megatron to question why he'd needed so badly for Starscream to know this, _truly_ know it, nor did he question the intense way he himself had responded to Starscream's writhing, desperate use of him.

So natural. So easy. Megatron had not questioned it then. But he was questioning it now.

Was this what those morons who had created him wanted? Did Starscream represent their ideal for a true Decepticon leader? Starscream, with all of his aggressive ambitions and fears? His rank cowardice, a cowardice which somehow, strangely, was his strength?

This was offensive on so many levels. The best thing to do would be to annihilate Starscream. Only then would the offense be cleared.

It would be best. Megatron stared at the blank and unchanging floor, his burning consuming glare wasted.

The best was impossible. It was useless to even wish for it.

_What is destruction? The answer seems obvious: the intentional and violent disordering of organized mass. Destruction rarely creates chaos; it is far more likely to produce entropy, the vanishment of useful energy. _

The misdiagnosis of entropy as chaos is quite common.

He belonged to Starscream.

Sickening. Nauseating. Even thinking it, Megatron was filled with rage. He was filled with visions of the destruction of Cybertron, relieving it of its duty to harbor sentients of such incalculable imbecility. He wanted to do it himself, slowly, quickly, taking it apart piece by piece, or maybe just exploding it all in one glorious nova of flame.

What a planet. What a people. The Autobots were filled with vain ideals which caused them nothing but pain and which made them nothing other than weak. The Neutrals were base sensualists, living for the moment and creating for themselves an empty, predictably shallow existence. And the Decepticons…

The Decepticons were the ones that made him.

Made him to be glorious and powerful and mighty, and then crippled him.

The Decepticons had beautiful ideals but in their sparks they were all nothing but cowards.

It was difficult to calm himself. Megatron tried the common strategy of naming primes, starting from one and working his way through the infinite array of real numbers. It didn't work; or rather, it did, but not fast enough to make gains on his expanding fury. He wanted to kill. He wanted to maim.

_What is destruction? As previously demonstrated, it is an agent of entropy. But entropy is a final common pathway for all kinds of processes. Solvents that dissipate into air, bodies that corrode into rust; these events are not intentional, merely inevitable. Violence is never inevitable: it requires an operator consumed with intent. _

The intent is singular, focused: destroy.

"Do you think I care about that when we could _die_?"

Without warning, that memory flashed through his processors. Starscream's panic had been embarrassingly naked, forcing the tetra jet to articulate undignified thoughts unfiltered of any sense of calculation or deception.

"I'm not worried YOU LUNATIC."

Remembering it made Megatron feel warm. His rage diverted, laughter and joy suddenly beckoning from the edges of his consciousness. That had been so funny. It still was funny. It was…

Megatron stopped. So this is how I am tamed, he realized. This is how it works.

He could spend all day fulminating over the wrongs done to him by the Decepticon high command, and for the rest of his life funnel that resentment towards all Decepticons that dared to still exist. But it was illogical to destroy that which he sought to lead. Blame was an Autobot game, and unworthy of him as a warrior; it never mattered who was at fault. It only mattered who was strongest, who was winning.

To master this unwanted part of himself, he first needed to acknowledge its uses. Despite the fact that he was created to destroy, Megatron didn't wish to reign over a barren universe.

Starscream had not asked for this, either. Bad enough to assign blame; to assign it wrongly was the sure sign of an irredeemable fool.

_What is destruction? In what can be found its joy? The answer to the second question is simple. Joy is acceptance and delight in ones true nature. Destruction requires intent, but intention is neither will nor decision, but rather an in-built function of design. Intention presupposes that we are what we are created to be: nothing less. _

And certainly not anything more.

If he had to, Megatron would destroy his joy with his own two hands.

He sat up. "Shockwave, report to my quarters." Megatron patched his command through to the control tower.

Time to shoot destiny through the spark.

. + .

 

The first sign something was wrong was Shockwave's dawdling reply to Megatron's order. Usually there was a precision to his haste which betrayed his eagerness to serve on his lord; one could set a chronometer by his transit time. But this time there was a delay so uncharacteristic that Megatron had begun to wonder if perhaps the base were under attack; he'd even messaged Shockwave a second time, and the excuse granted had been as vague as it was unbelievable.

Normally Megatron would be plotting punishment for any Decepticon who defied him with anything less than a prompt and respectful response, but Shockwave was different. Although Megatron did not believe in absolute trust, his trust for Shockwave was as close as he ever came.

If it had just been the tardiness, Megatron would have been willing to let it go. But Shockwave was jumpy; evasive; acting like someone who had something to hide.

And Megatron was quickly growing impatient.

"You don't remember? I would have thought you'd burn it into your memory." Megatron was caustic, eyes tracking Shockwave in a manner similar to a raptor tracking its prey.

"Forgive me, my lord! It was such a troubled, turbulent time. Everything from then is blurred; even my memories of you."

Shockwave was an extremely bad liar. He clearly saw that Megatron was fishing, and whatever it was he assumed Megatron was fishing _for_ was something he didn't want Megatron to know. Even though Megatron found it distasteful, Shockwave's troubled manner bothered him even more; he would have to be blunt.

"Sit," Megatron said. He pointed to a spot at his feet, in front of where he was sitting. "Or rather, kneel."

This, Shockwave obeyed without question. It was obvious that some of his tension automatically eased, although now he was clearly more nervous than ever. It was the difference between a nervousness of body and a nervousness of mind; something that Megatron had never fully understood before. He was beginning to understand now.

"You will tell me why you are trying to hide things from me, and you will tell me now."

"Megatron-- "

The lack of instant capitulation was surprising; unlike Megatron, Shockwave had never particularly rebelled against his fate, having embraced his bond with a relish that had been (and remained) aggravating. Shockwave had never been the type to protect his own casing where Megatron was concerned. Megatron didn't believe he'd suddenly become the type now. "There is something you think I shouldn't know." Megatron tapped an index finger over the hull of his thigh thoughtfully. "Tell me."

"I- I…" Shockwave was clearly having a difficult time of it. "I don't want to cause problems for you," he managed. "Starscream… it's rather unfortunate…"

How could Shockwave _possibly_…? Megatron stiffened. He knew. Shockwave knew. Not that Megatron had intended to keep it a secret, at least not from his most trusted underling. But how was it even possible for Shockwave to have known, or even suspected it, without telling him? How was it possible for Shockwave to know before he, Megatron, knew himself? This was exactly the kind of thing Shockwave's bond should have forced him to volunteer long before Megatron could even begin to think of ordering the information out of him.

There should be no way. It was absurd.

Unlike Starscream, Megatron didn't bother trying to puzzle things out. He reached into Shockwave' gun barrel face and squeezed his single eye, threatening to crack the glass and render him temporarily blind. "How do you know about Starscream?" Megatron spoke slowly, a cutting twist of his fingers with each word. "Tell me. Now."

"He asked, and then I knew." Shockwave's voice betrayed no pain, no fear of hurt; only the shame of letting down his master. "He will… he didn't seem to want you to know, so if you do-- ."

He'll what? Whine to death? Or rather, whine at Megatron until Megatron shot himself to death? Megatron's eyes flashed. The earlier episode with Starscream suddenly took on a new meaning. Without bothering to ask for permission, Megatron unscrewed a small probe from the side of his neck, and plugged it into a port at the back of Shockwave's neck. He would have to browse Shockwave's memories directly.

Megatron's ident key was enough to override all of Shockwave's firewalls, invasively taking over Shockwave's access to his own memory banks. It would force Shockwave to relive his own memories passively. Some mechs used this kind of memory integration as a form of interfacing, although it was far too intimate for casual encounters. Megatron himself took no pleasure in it.

And everything he needed was right there, at the topmost matrix of memories, in the active queue of things Shockwave hadn't yet sorted into permanent files. Working memory. Megatron swiftly went over Shockwave's entire exchange with Starscream, running over it once again in order to verify that he had it all. And once yet again, for reasons that were far more obscure and unpleasant to contemplate.

"You see, he knew-- " Shockwave moaned, out of fear and apprehension, his shame effectively destroying whatever enjoyment he might otherwise derive from the act. Megatron curled his lips in disgust.

"He knew nothing, you idiot!" Megatron unplugged viciously, letting the data cord snap against his face as it coiled back into his neck. "_You_ told him. He tricked you." Megatron hit the top of Shockwave's head with a clenched fist, not gently but with no especial malice. "Stand up."

Oh, this was unexpected. It changed the entire flavor of Starscream's behavior towards him earlier that night. That whole disturbing farce had been completely intentional on Starscream's part, digging for confirmation on whatever conclusion he'd drawn from Shockwave's rather vague confession.

So Starscream knew.

Shockwave was looking down at Megatron, and the firmness of his stance revealed that he no longer felt torn or unsure. "He used me to uncover your weakness?" His voice was stone. "He dared?"

"Yes." Megatron sat back, returning Shockwave's outraged glare with a dark smile. "I know. He really is that stupid."

The memory matrix had been very clear. Shockwave assumed that Starscream's attitude revealed a superiority that could only come from his having seized control over Megatron already. Shockwave feared that Megatron, having succumbed fully to the programming mandates, would order Shockwave not to harm Starscream, were Megatron to know that he knew. He'd been planning his chance, looking for a way to assassinate Starscream before Megatron could order him not to.

"I'm not that far gone yet," Megatron added, voice dry. "Killing him unless it becomes absolutely necessary serves no purpose."

Plus, he did not wish for it.

Perhaps he had something to hide from Shockwave after all. Megatron, however, dismissed this notion sharply, continuing. "You remember the price. I would rather not go insane until _after_ I've conquered the universe."

"Yes, Lord Megatron." Shockwave didn't sound convinced, but neither did he sound regretful. He obviously had noted Megatron's critical omission; there had been no explicit order for him _not_ to kill Starscream.

So. Starscream was aware of his advantage, without actually understanding what that meant. Useful.

"I am not as weak as you."

Megatron stood up at last.

. + .

 

As expected, it was not long before Starscream made his move.

It was right after a successful raid on an Autobot energon processing plant. Megatron had not led the raid; it was too minor a concern. He had sent his air force instead.

Well, _most_ of his air force.

Starscream had not been included in the raid. Megatron had made a point of ignoring him since that night, not allowing Starscream any opportunities to catch him in conversation, no longer favoring him with special attention. This had not gone unnoticed by the troops; as Megatron planned, the speculations grew and were vicious. Starscream had to be suffering from the resulting drop in prestige, and therefore the performance expectations on him were extreme; at the same time, he was being denied any and all opportunities to prove himself to his peers. There was open talk of demotion.

All this without Megatron lifting a finger. The stage was set.

It was uncommon for Megatron to take his meals with the troops, but that night he joined the air division in the mess hall, as recognition for their accomplishments. Starscream, shunned, was not allowed to participate. In fact, he hadn't been allowed to eat at all; he was being forced to stand at the wall and watch while they took supper instead. Cruel, but common practice among Decepticons.

Such humiliating punishments were meant to strengthen him if he could be strengthened. And break him if he could not.

Starscream did not disappoint. He endured with sneering stoicism, arrogantly glaring at any who dared look his way. He did not laugh along with those who tried to mock him, nor did he attempt the strategy of ignoring abuse. Instead he answered every insult, whether occult or overt, with the same threatening smile. And he had allies in his wingmates; although neither Thundercracker nor Skywarp were foolhardy enough to question Megatron's judgment, they also had little tolerance for those would openly laugh at their third.

Even for Seekers, it was a noteworthy level of loyalty.

For the first time in several deca-cycles, Megatron allowed himself to look directly at Starscream. Starscream returned the glance, at first with a reflexive smirk that he immediately dropped once he realized just who it was that was looking at him.

Megatron held Starscream's eye for a long moment before turning to Soundwave, who sat next to him among the Seeker group. "Why isn't that one seated?" he asked casually, nodding towards Starscream as if he'd just noticed him. "I wasn't aware the wall was in that much need of guarding."

The entire table became quiet for a moment. And then from halfway down the table, Skywarp suddenly stood up, a wide grin on his face. "Hey, slacker!" He turned to Starscream, waving him over insolently. "Stop watching your femme figure and join us!"

Surprise, relief. Megatron saw these emotions flash across Starscream's face, before he buried them in an intentionally smug smile. But Megatron also saw something else. Starscream nodded slightly, as if to himself, sneaking another quick look at Megatron before moving to join Skywarp.

From then the rest of the meal proceeded without incident.

Afterward, after everyone was done eating and were now milling about, mingling at ease, Starscream hunted Megatron down. Megatron preferred to hold himself apart when his troops were socializing, distinguishing himself by limiting his casual conversations to either Shockwave or Soundwave. Everyone else who wanted to talk to him had to approach him as if in supplication. Few dared. Those who did were brief, not wanting to take up too much of Megatron's valuable time. Their usual reason would be to offer thanks, for some trifling favor Megatron had tossed their way.

Starscream had his excuse. He walked over to where Megatron was chatting with Soundwave, stepping boldly, but with far less boldness then he might have used previous to Megatron's period of public disenchantment. Few of the other Decepticons even took note; this was a time when they could be casual and enjoy each other's company, and one of the few sanctioned times when Megatron allowed himself to be ignored. Starscream stopped and stood by patiently at a slight remove, waiting for Megatron to acknowledge him.

"Yes?" Megatron did not let Starscream wait long.

This farce was draining. It had not been easy to ignore Starscream for those long deca-cycles.

"Thank you, Lord Megatron." Starscream was looking down; chastened, or gathering his nerve. "I appreciate your attention."

Of course he did. Starscream would not be able to survive long in this army without it. Megatron nodded, his air distant, taking the thanks as his due, making as if to turn back to Soundwave as if in dismissal.

"Can I?" Starscream blurted abruptly, looking up. He did look nervous; he'd lost confidence. The truth he thought he'd learned was in doubt. Good. Megatron raised a brow, as if surprised Starscream was still there, but after a calculated pause motioned for Starscream to continue. "Ah. Can I, could I speak to you in private? Sometime soon?"

So obvious. Starscream needed at least another million years of service before he learned the true meaning of cunning.

Megatron ignored the eagerness in his own spark, the greed with which he had prepared for that exact question. Everything so far had been to force Starscream into a state of desperation, one in which he would find himself pushing for this very opportunity. It would not have had the same meaning if Megatron had been the one to ask.

"This evening," Megatron responded bluntly, and perhaps just a bit more forcefully than he'd intended. "You may see me in my quarters."

Starscream nodded slowly. Yes. This was obviously what Starscream had expected, hoped for. "Thank you, my Lord," he said softly.

Megatron spared him a look that was nearly fond. He was courting danger, and knew it.

Few things ever made him feel so alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who are familiar with the .hack franchise will probably recognize where I got the title of this chapter, but for those who are not: "The Terror of Death" is an alternate name for both Haseo, the main protagonist of .hack//GU, and Skeith, his weapon.


	7. My Heart is a Drawer of Knives

No surprise: Megatron did not need to wait long.

Despite this, the wait had been excruciating. He thought he might strangle Starscream to death on general principles. The fact that he'd needed to wait at all was intolerable; now that he'd set things in motion, Megatron wanted Starscream to present himself with all haste. He wanted to get this over with.

Following a hesitant knock and Megatron's firm "enter," Starscream slipped into Megatron's quarters. The Seeker stopped just inside the threshold, first looking at Megatron who was seated in the room's only chair, and then glancing all around. Whether it was in growing awe for Megatron's splendid situation or simply because Starscream found it difficult to steadily attend to his leader, it was hard to say. Whatever it was, it didn't take him long to realize that there was no place for him to sit, and that he would need to stand awkwardly if he planned to stay.

Starscream's lips tightened, and finally his gaze settled on Megatron. "Thank you for granting me this audience," he said, cautious.

There were many possible ways to respond to this. Standard would be to order Starscream to get on with it and state his intentions. Less standard, but still acceptable and expected, would be to reply with a simple closed-off "you're welcome," letting silence apply all the pressure necessary to coerce Starscream to confess the reason for this highly irregular visit. Biting sarcasm and insults were also de rigueur.

Instead, Megatron looked up at Starscream, hardening his expression. "Spare me your insincere thanks."

A mistake. It was an obvious mistake of judgement, to be so frank.

And Starscream knew it. He relaxed a fraction, untwisting his hands and letting them fall to his side. "I mean it. This is an unusual honor."

Were Megatron to wish to backtrack and reclaim the upper hand, it would have been simple to do so now. But instead, Megatron followed mistake with error. Shaking his head, Megatron tightened his grip on the armrests, leaning forward attentively.

"Again, spare me." Megatron sounded strained, even to himself. "It is impossible for Shockwave to hide anything from me, even if he tries."

Mistake. Error. It was embarrassing, humiliating to act like this. It was difficult not to feel tightly wound. It was difficult to choke back the urge to strike out. But Starscream was his 'master' now: lashing out might end up being even more humiliating, especially when he was not yet sure of the depth of Starscream's resolve. More importantly, it did not serve Megatron's purpose to lash out.

All there was left to do would be to bear the indignity of his mistakes, and endure the scrutiny under which he was now held. Silence stretched between him and Starscream as the engine of deceit shifted up a gear.

"Is that so?" Starscream sounded thoughtful. He was putting on such an obvious display, bluffing while trying to assess where exactly he stood.

This was the trick for which Shockwave fell? Pathetic.

"It is so." Sarcasm, laced with malice. The Decepticon way.

"So." Starscream took a step forward, and another, not stopping until he stood just in front of Megatron. It had obviously required courage for him to bring himself this close, but he did it, standing within looming distance, looking down with bemusement, forcing Megatron to crane his head upwards to meet Starscream's eyes. Still not daring to touch, though. "Tell me what it means."

Starscream sounded honestly curious, but had also been careful to weigh that as a command.

Megatron smiled, letting the bitterness show.

Such pride. Such ridiculous, brazen pride. How could Megatron have become entangled with someone so blatant? It was a question worth sparing some honest anger.

It would be extremely difficult to disobey a direct command. Megatron didn't even try. "It means I belong to you. You guessed this, I'm sure."

A flicker of alarm crossed Starscream's face. A look of pure fear. Interesting, for Starscream to recognize that this situation remained perilous despite Megatron's capitulation.

It was good that he was not entirely stupid.

Megatron attempted to ignore the warm flush of recognition, the sense that this was how things ought to be. He felt taunted by his own desires; Megatron used this sense of self betrayal to glower instead of smile.

"But what does that _mean_?" Starscream whispered. "Tell me." He was pleading.

Megatron stubbornly refused to answer. Pleas were not the same as commands.

It took Starscream some time to realize the distinction for himself, too caught up in his own baroque calculations to even notice right away that he'd asked a question which had not been answered. Once he did, it was clear that Starscream was wrenched with sudden doubt.

Waiting this out was difficult. Megatron knew what would come next, however, and he tensed with anticipatory nausea.

Suddenly Starscream took Megatron by the chin and leaned in. Megatron could feel the slight trembling in Starscream's fingers. The former scientist was still terrified, it seemed. But it was clear that he'd decided on a course, and was planned on suppressing all overt weakness through sheer force of will. "Tell me," he repeated, and this time there was no doubt that he expected to be answered.

"It means that there is no such thing as perfection," Megatron said, giving his truest answer before launching into what Starscream wanted to hear. "I am a weapon. Weapons are made to serve." There was no command in the universe that could make him look away from the Decepticon who finally dared to claim him. The only one who would ever have the right. "Those who made me lacked vision to see any other possibilities." As expected, Starscream's touch made him want to retch.

"And why me?" Starscream ground this question out. He sounded like he would have preferred for anything not to ask this question, but couldn't help himself. Megatron was impressed; it was a good question, and one he wouldn't have expected someone so arrogant to have voiced aloud.

"Because you were there."

There was more to it than that, but Megatron felt a sudden uplifting of his spirit as he realized that the answer he'd been searching for had come to him upon command.

This was the reason. It was the only one that mattered, for now. The fact that it was a cruel reason made him smile.

"Ah." Starscream nodded. If the answer dispirited him, he took pains to hide it. "So you will do as you are told?"

The most dangerous moment. Megatron knew that he could not lie. He knew exactly what his limitations were. "It seems so."

"Mmm." Starscream was still trembling; he had never fully stopped. "Stand, then."

Megatron stood. Starscream let go of his face, and his look was filled with fearful wonder. It was not difficult to imagine what he must be thinking. How it hadn't really felt true until just that moment.

"Would you kneel if I told you to?" Starscream asked, eyes wide.

"Would you dare to ask?" Megatron looked down, haughty and dangerous.

"I might," Starscream admitted, but Megatron didn't need special skills to uncover the emptiness of Starscream's bravado. Starscream still had no idea how Megatron would act towards him outside of the privacy of his own quarters. Starscream still did not know the rules. Intelligently, he remained cautious. The memory of his recent shunning must have been far too fresh in his mind. So, instead of humiliating Megatron by command, he took the far safer route, reaching out to claim Megatron's gun hand, holding it with both of his own, as if to prove to himself that he could not be rebuffed. "I-I really don't want to lead, you know."

Yes, Megatron knew. The desires of cowards were drearily predictable. Why be leader when that made you a target? It was much better to be the hidden power behind a throne. Obviously, Starscream expected Megatron to find this reassuring.

Megatron merely shrugged. But he made no attempt to pull his hand away.

Starscream placed Megatron's hand on the palm of his right hand, using his left hand to stroke the top: a cloying petting motion. Possessive, reassuring. Starscream obviously couldn't decide if he'd acquired a pet or a slave.

"This doesn't bother you," Starscream noted. Perhaps by making it a statement he hoped it would become true. Megatron didn't deign to reply. Starscream had been looking down at what he was doing, but now he looked up again, obviously shy to assume that he was reading things right. "I wouldn't make this public either."

Was that supposed to be a gift? A sop to his ego? Megatron had no need for ego. Particularly since he could see through Starscream's kind-seeming words and see the selfish intent behind them. Without Megatron, Starscream was nothing. He didn't have enough skill or knowledge to hold a position at the very top of the army. His current position was in some ways overreaching, and he depended on the good will of his trine to hold it. Making Megatron subservient would gain him a weapon, and an ally, but it would not buy him a position as the top Decepticon. And without a doubt, it would buy him any number of dangerous enemies.

Starscream had to know that Megatron would not make it easy for him, and would be treacherous to the core: too powerful not to be anything but a liability unless he became strong himself.

This was more or less the strategy Megatron had predicted Starscream would adopt. Not rash, but not timid. A middle-of-the-jetstream path meant for clear and easy flying. Megatron wanted to admire it, but dared not. The stakes were far to high for him to stumble. Even though Starscream's touch sickened and angered him, Megatron refused to indulge in the comfort of his rebellious feelings. Any turbulence would be bad; neither positive nor negative feelings could help him now.

Besides. This was almost over. It had to be. Starscream only had so much bravery, and by now had to be reaching his limit.

Next time, he would be braver. The next time, braver still.

Best to get the demands out of the way now. "I suppose you want reassurances." Megatron knew that Starscream would get to this point eventually, but hijacking was better. Starscream was feeling his way forward blind; Megatron knew exactly where this was heading. "I will stop ignoring you. I am sure this would be… helpful, to you." He sneered as he said the word 'helpful.' "And although I will resume taking you out for missions, there will be no more like Trieste."

Relief. Starscream radiated relief like uranium, like a creature of accelerated radioactive decay. Megatron had taken pains to address what he presumed were Starscream's two top concerns, and the intensity of the relief suffusing Starscream's face told him that he'd been correct. Still holding Megatron's hand, it was becoming increasingly clear Starscream didn't know what to do with it; the stroking slowed. Abruptly he let go.

Megatron let his hand drop artlessly to his side, so as not to appear to want to snatch it back or (conversely) to hold it forth in a display of lingering desire. It was his turn to feel a speck of relief: when predicting the possible outcomes for this encounter, one of the options that held a fair degree of probability was that Starscream would make some clumsy attempt to establish a more intimate level of interpersonal control. Megatron had steeled himself against this possibility, prepared to endure with as much stoicism as he could muster. It was good, though, not to have to live through that. Not yet, anyway.

"I can accept that," Starscream said finally, having apparently decided that he was both pleased with himself and done for the time being. "I," he swallowed, an ancient physiological reflex of absolutely no adaptive benefit. So much of how Cybertronians behaved were found in these needless, superfluous gestures with widely understood meanings but completely unknown purposes. "I, uh, would like to also visit you like this from time to time."

It wasn't a command. Megatron let that pass. "Very well," he said, making sure to appear indifferent.

Starscream nodded, and after a moment of awkward staring, turned around and left the room, not offering any sort of farewell or leave taking. Apparently the Seeker had forgotten all protocol, even all sense; even with a supposed slave, it was not appropriate to walk out that way. It wasn't even a matter of courtesy; a graceful exit was the surest sign of steel will, of iron self-control. Normally even Starscream wasn't so negligent.

Megatron stared at the door, in wonderment and with that sick sensation of warmth threatening to overwhelm him. _Stupid_, he reminded himself. _Starscream is stupid, and foolish_.

In another one of those unconscious gestures, Megatron found himself scratching at his right hand, rubbing the top of it as if to erase an irritant. Once he realized what he was doing, he stopped.

++

 

Time passed.

Outwardly, the relationship between Megatron and Starscream normalized, returning to the place where it had been previous the discovery of Megatron's bond. Gradually the troops forgot the period of Starscream's shunning, and if there was any resentment that he'd returned to his position of special favor, it remained carefully hidden. Starscream remained with his trine and was awarded no increase in rank. Nevertheless, even Thundercracker saw that Starscream had secured some kind of lasting privilege from the difficult Decepticon leader. More and more often, Starscream was treated by his wingmates as a peer rather than as a subordinate.

Starscream's training suffered as a result. His mistakes were often left uncorrected, his faux pas uncontested. Even Megatron appeared to have given up on trying to reign him in, not forcing him to fit into the standard military mold. The mistakes were not as grave as they might have been, however, because Starscream had apparently entered a phase of hyper vigilance, watching over himself carefully and employing a trim-and-respond strategy of course correction that kept him from falling too far off track.

In private, relations were not nearly so serene.

As Megatron had expected, Starscream was slowly gathering his resolve, pressing his advantage bit by bit, taking a small slice of Megatron's dignity each time they met. Never did Starscream attempt a full coup, preferring always to cloak his commands in a guise of consideration and respect. He never asked Megatron to bow, nor kneel, nor abase himself in any way. He also never made any overt attempts to require Megatron to change the style of his public leadership, and was careful not to insist that Megatron forgo his own superior military training in deference to Starscream's outsider ideas of strategy.

What he did do, however, was force Megatron to be accountable, demanding to know why he made the decisions he did, clearly picking Megatron's brain.

The other thing he did was to continue to touch.

What had started out as hesitant, abortive attempts of possessiveness had slowly become more assured. As it became clear to him that Megatron would not push him away, Starscream took to a teasing, dominating approach. Did Starscream feel desire? Unknown. Starscream certainly showed all the signs of active fascination, but without the desperation of a besotted lover. His touch was roaming, assertive, placing his hands wherever he wanted and leaving them for as long as he wished. And Starscream asked for nothing in terms of responsiveness; it did not seem to matter to him if Megatron liked it, so long as he endured.

And in fact, Megatron loathed it. The repulsiveness of Starscream's touch never lessened, the outrage never eased. It was dirty and disgusting, and he always was left feeling irreversibly unclean. He never longed to be touched, no matter how much he obsessed over it. He could never get rid of that warm feeling, a feeling which Megatron had decided to categorize as 'the enemy' and considered it to be the most dangerous aspect of his unwanted programming constraints.

Resignation beckoned, as well as acceptance.

Time passed, and this too became routine. And Megatron bided his time, waiting for his one clear chance.

One day, finally, it came.

As usual, when Megatron entered Starscream's quarters, he did not knock. This was a part of the protocol. Rumor around the base was that Megatron had taken Starscream as a lover, a rumor for which Starscream endured any amount of careful teasing.

If only those idiots had any idea. Thank Primus they didn't.

"There you are," Starscream said absently, looking up after the door slid closed behind Megatron, sealing their privacy. His own quarters were not at all lavish, because he didn't own any possessions worth having, and was not the sort to actively court friendship. The room was a cell, a spent casing to display the sterility and coldness of the average Decepticon life. There was nothing, nothing other than the sole recharge berth built into the wall. His wasn't even set up as a chair. Starscream rested standing in the recessed alcove, hooked up to wires, eyes dimmed but flashing upon Megatron's entrance.

"Starscream," Megatron said, with a curt nod.

Straightaway Starscream detached himself from recharge, stepping forward unceremoniously with one of his strange little smiles. He wasted no time coming right up to Megatron, hands going straight for his leader's chest, pressing them flat against the front panels. "Back." Compliantly Megatron took a step backwards, allowing himself to be pushed towards the door, looking down at Starscream with his characteristic mix of annoyance and disdain. It was going to be one of _those_ visits, Megatron thought irritably.

"Come, tell me that you can't get enough of this," Starscream said teasingly, with a short laugh. "You've got to be enjoying it by now."

Enjoying it? It was all Megatron could do not to pull away. Starscream knew this. So he didn't say anything, sniffing derisively instead.

"One of these days, I'm going to order you to enjoy it," Starscream continued, not appearing to care that he was far outside the realm of conversation and deep in the state of soliloquy. "I wonder how long it would take before such an order came true."

Never, if Megatron could help it. Still, Starscream was learning, or at least thought he was learning, what the parameters of control were.

This was when Starscream would usually get going, perhaps skimming his fingers over Megatron's sides, perhaps pressing Megatron's wrists to the wall, perhaps stroking his face. Perhaps doing something altogether worse.

Instead, Starscream stepped back, gazing up and down Megatron's form appraisingly.

Megatron knew he wasn't going to win any awards for beauty, and expected Starscream's assessment to end with some kind of derogatory comparison of Megatron's severe, practical body to Starscream's sleek and, according to himself, absolutely perfect form. Megatron always wondered why Starscream cared so much about such trivial things.

But this time, Starscream didn't end up launching into his normal "oh well, I suppose you are good enough" speech, which was either meant as put down or as a way to disguise some level of genuine lust. Megatron could never tell. Rather, Starscream's gaze became extremely gentle.

What moronic scheme had the slagger cooked up this time? That it would take Megatron to new depths of submission and humiliation, he had no doubt.

It was good that Megatron was patient. That he did not care about ego. Because times like this, the temptation to abandon all pretense was almost overwhelming.

"Transform for me," Starscream said, voice soft. "I want to see."

Was this it?

Stifling a sudden stab of hope, Megatron stiffened instead, making a show of being aggrieved. Balking, when he wanted for nothing more to fly into alt-mode, taking his opportunity, looking for his chance.

"Do it," Starscream said, looking annoyed, becoming firm. Starscream always hated having to repeat his orders.

Hesitating no longer, Megatron transformed. The experience of folding into himself, compressing his mass and activating his fusion core: it was a good feeling. A veil of darkness dropped before his eyes. Paralysis and numbness dressed his limbs. His positional sense became blunted, his impulse to move slipped away. For a moment he was completely disconnected from the world, unable to tell even if Starscream had grabbed him or let him drop inelegantly to the floor.

And then the grid came online.

The grid was nothing like sight. But a light pulsed in his spark anyway as the relevant programming swung into action, an artificial space generated spontaneously followed by precise awareness of the size and mass of everything that surrounded him. The grid was not a map, but in many ways it functioned like one; Megatron knew he'd made it into Starscream's hands, and he could sense all the things around him which longed to be destroyed.

It was true. The entire universe had a death wish. Like this, Megatron could feel it, entropy lapping at his spark in inviting waves.

Inside the grid, Megatron's targeting algorithms came to life. For the moment he was pointed at a featureless corner of Starscream's cell, a bit of wall. Not much to look at, but even this was pierced with the intensive scanning device hidden deep in the well of his gun barrel. In a moment Megatron knew everything he needed to know about the wall; its tensile strength, its thickness, what lay beyond. It was a skill not well adapted to organic structures or lifeforms, but within the confines of a metallic world, his inner sight was peerless.

The entire world murmured to him, but at the place where he was targeted, he and his target briefly became one.

"I like you better like this."

Listening was a chore. Sound was nothing important; sound could not be destroyed, at least not by him. Sound didn't give him any more information on his surroundings than the grid, and therefore was in many ways useless to him as a weapon. The part of him that was not a weapon, however, aroused itself and forced him to attend. Everything Starscream said was important, he needed to catch every nuance.

"You would." Megatron responded, using commlink rather than his now buried vocal processors. Speaking out loud felt too unnatural; he preferred not to do it unless absolutely necessary.

For a time there was nothing but quiet; the target changed rapidly, swinging here and there. Starscream was examining him, Megatron realized, appraising his exterior character, not realizing that this was by far the least important aspect of any gun. A soft scratching sound informed Megatron that Starscream was touching him as well, feeling him over. Testing heft, testing grip; the natural actions of anyone holding any unfamiliar weapon.

During this time it dawned on Megatron that Starscream had sat down on the floor, back to the wall. An interesting choice, signaling that Starscream was either relaxed, or wanted to be. The shifting movements slowed; now Starscream was holding him steady, barrel pointed up towards the ceiling and away from himself. The scratching sound continued.

_He thinks I can feel it_, Megatron realized suddenly. _He wants me to feel it._

Of course. Starscream probably thought it was easier to tame him this way, when he was small, immobile, and functionally mute.

"Having fun?" Megatron asked, disguising his growing hopes by making himself sound as snide as possible.

"Oh _yes_, mighty Megatron," Starscream said, very quietly. "Very much."

Such an odd tone. Megatron ached to know what Starscream was thinking. "Easy to say, considering where you've got me pointed." He paused, and if he could have smiled, he would have. "Coward."

"What?" The target trembled; Starscream was stung. It had been a long time since Megatron had gifted him with any sort of overt insult. He'd obviously forgotten that it was possible for Megatron to harbor such derisive thoughts. "I'm not afraid of you," Starscream lied, pride and hurt taking over, as well as some real anger. Starscream didn't think it was possible for his 'toy' to be so impertinent.

In a moment, Starscream would decide to punish him. To humiliate him, forcing Megatron to debase himself and prove his utter subservience. There were several ways this could happen, but only one which Megatron aimed for.

Would he really do it? Would Starscream show off that marvelously comprehensive stupidity of his?

One could only hope.

"You couldn't hurt me," Starscream said after he'd thought about it a while, disgusted. "You know you're not allowed. So insulting me is just pathetic."

"Is it?" Megatron allowed his voice over the commlink to sound thoughtful, a bit chastened. The defiance of the weak: or so he expected Starscream to think. "I wonder."

"Wonder no more then."

A swift revision of his targeting. Suddenly Megatron was pointed directly at Starscream's core.

"You won't hurt me," Starscream said, voice hard, the tone of command all-encompassing. "You will do as you are told, and you will acknowledge that you are mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is adapted from a line in a poem by Philip Larkin, _Deceptions_.


	8. Cut Off On All Sides

Finally.

Starscream's spark blazed like a comet, shining blue-white in Megatron's hidden sight as the targeting programming initiated deep scanning. Through glass and partitions, wires and energon lines, the delicate-seeming electrical lattice flickered in its shielded chamber, protected from corruption behind a thick wall of lead.

Theoretically, the spark chamber was also protected from radiation and most forms of analytical scanning. But it was hardly a match for Megatron's fusion-powered neutron imaging.

Megatron had waited so long for this.

Every affront to his dignity, every endured caress and command, every seeming mistake: all had been for this moment.

"See?"

Megatron ignored Starscream's pointed question, knowing that silence would serve him well, for a while. Instead he attended to the cascading energies of the laser core as he mined for meaning, uncovering fragments of memories like jeweled ribbons. The essential self bound in lightning.

Starscream was gloating. Megatron didn't need to guess; he could see it, the satisfied tint speaking of a sense of superiority as well as smug pity. And a fondness, a surprising fondness. But this too was to be ignored; Megatron was not interested in mere telepathic tricks which only licked the surface of things.

He twisted his attention deeper.

Time slipped sideways, or perhaps it dilated, as Megatron willingly surrendered access to his outer self, becoming nothing but a weapon.

_Why, Starscream?_

A weapon with a computer brain.

_Why you?_

++

 

White fog, silent static: the snowfall is thick, gusting bitterly in this nameless, unkind world.

How many cycles have passed? I've lost track.

By now I've covered at least half the globe, flying over forests and deserts, flying through fine weather and over the storms. But now I'm back. It was around here, right?

Why haven't you answered me? Answer me!

You would never just leave me to die. You promised me. You promised me, Skyfire. So you've got to be somewhere.

Here. You've got to be here.

Why is it so ridiculously cold? I can't keep the ice off my body.

I'm heavy here, anyway, and this is _not_ helping.

You idiot, you knew this planet was going to have tricky gravity, you knew that the unstable atmospherics were going to make navigation a challenge. And there's nothing here. Nothing. Nothing worth seeing or learning or doing. What did you think we were going to get out of this anyway, Skyfire?

Answer me.

I'm walking. One of the fastest fliers on Cybertron and I'm _walking_. And visibility is practically zero. Is this some kind of joke?

I hope you're happy, you idiot.

Do you have any idea how stupid this snow is? How stupid all this weather is? There's no control at all, no management! It's disgraceful. It's third-rate. The fact that there is even snow at all is just insulting. No advanced planet would put up with this!

Don't worry, I won't say I told you so. I'm used to you making these dumb mistakes. You're just too inquisitive for your own good. We're scientists, not stunt devils. But I forgive you. You know I do, even though when you look at what's happened to my finish you're going to cry. Scratches, dents. Rust.

I know. Rust. But that's what happens when there is too much stinking oxygen, right?

My heat shields are still okay, and that's all that matters, so don't worry about it. You can treat me to a full body detailing when we get home, you know I'll let you.

Here. Was it here?

Answer me!

It's impossible to see through this slagging snow! At least it's not accumulating; walking on ice isn't so bad, once you get used to it. But this is what happens when you let hydrogen and oxygen become too friendly with each other. They _mate_. And then you get all this ridiculous water. Flooding the planet, choking the skies.

Solidifying into ice.

And of course the ice isn't being at all helpful here. There's no way of guessing whether this is the right topography or not. It's all just ice, and snow, and dark.

Next time we're going to a _civilized_ planet.

No more. I'm not letting you decide anymore. From now on all navigational decisions are going through me.

If you think that's not fair, tough; learn how to fly better next time.

We don't need this, you know. This is a huge setback for our research. We'll have to go straight home after I find you, and we'll have nothing to show for our efforts. Slag, we might even need to start all over.

How are we going to get another grant? Who is going to finance a couple of fools who can't even land properly?

All right. Nevermind. But I'm getting tired here. I can't even use my life support, it's too dark. All I'm doing is using up energon.

Why aren't you here?

And why is it so hard to find you, anyway? Don't tell me you were stupid enough to crash into the sea? How do you expect me to find you under all that liquid nonsense?

Do you want me to leave you? Don't think I won't.

I mean it.

Slaggit. Answer.

++

 

Collecting shards of memory was a swift, brutal process. Even at an accelerated pace, Megatron knew his time was limited; Starscream would not point a gun at his spark forever. Not all memories were sticky; every memory that attached to Starscream's spark was important. Slot and sort, slot and sort… for the most part, Megatron didn't waste any time browsing the actual content, knowing that there would be plenty of time later for a detailed examination of his stolen cache.

But some memories stood out, demanding at least cursory evaluation.

Megatron had never seen snow himself, but Starscream's memories granted him a vicarious experience almost as good as firsthand knowledge. And even though Starscream could not look at his own memories from a perspective outside himself, Megatron could. Or at least if he imagined it, he could.

Starscream stumbling, weak and damaged, searching desperately for a friend he'd never find.

Alone under threatening skies.

Somewhere in this, Megatron would find his "why." The answer to this question would tell him what Starscream should mean to him. It would help him to understand his in-built mandate.

Understanding his mandate was the key to understanding himself.

More: understanding his mandate would give Megatron the keys to destroy it.

++

 

I can't remember when my hands weren't covered in tar.

But at least I'm finally making progress, Skyfire. Do you hear that? I've got progress, which is more than I can say for you. What are you doing, wherever you are?

Well, who am I kidding. I'm sure you've completely offlined. I know you probably think I should just give up and join you.

Admit it. You don't even think I can cross a solar system without your help, let alone the fragging galaxy.

"Look at you, you haven't even left the planet yet." I know that's what you're thinking. "While you've been extracting energon from _hydrocarbons_, it's not like Cybertron stayed put."

Go ahead and laugh. I've been at this for a dozen stellar cycles now.

And you're right. Harvesting energon? Is the easy part. Although I'm not sure I'd classify as "easy" my little surface mining operation. Do you have the slightest comprehension how long it took me to even find this place? And that was only after I gave up messing around with this planet's volcanoes. Why they can't just ooze magma in a nice, orderly fashion I have no idea.

Do you see these scorch marks? Here, on my arm? I almost lost my arm that day. I had to perform patch repair with _unrefined iron_.

When it's time to leave, I'm going to need to replace those patches with steel. Just the thought of what I'm going to have to do to make that steel fills me with horror.

And let's not even talk about the rust. What a nightmare.

Do you know, I even have to make my own _paint_? It's intolerable.

So, you think I'm spoiled, Skyfire? I know you do. You did. But how spoiled am I now?

Knowing you, you think this is good for me. Slagger.

If I never have to look at tar petroleum again after this, it will be too soon.

What? You think I should be compiling notes? That I'll be able to translate this farce into some kind of useful research experience after all?

Dream on. I hate this planet. I loathe it. It doesn't deserve the honor of my analysis.

I'm leaving you behind, Skyfire. Make no mistake about that. I'm leaving you.

You can have this disgusting planet. Take it for your tomb.

I have zero plans on joining you. Zero.

You know what they say about zero, right? It's the only number which, when added to another number, fails to change it. You are zero to me. Your existence here is not going to bind me. I refuse to accept it.

You know what else they say?

Zero is the only number which _itself_ remains unchanged when multiplied by any other number.

You're dead now. Probably.

Enjoy your peaceful, unchanging, _nothing_ existence.

I'm not like you. I'll never allow myself to stand still. Not for a moment.

Do you hear me, Skyfire?

I could die here. But I won't. I won't!

I wish…

I wish you felt the same.

++

 

"Megatron?" Starscream's voice came as if from far away, quiet as a bell. The silence had begun to stretch, and clearly the Seeker was starting to become uneasy with how stubbornly he was being ignored. Perhaps Starscream was starting to realize that it is impossible to punish something that didn't move, which hardly spoke, and gave little evidence of its own sentience.

Not much time left, then.

"Pointing a gun at yourself is dangerous," Megatron said, calmly, using his real voice.

Starscream stiffened. For a moment, the shining lights of his spark slowed, and the visions that danced through Megatron's consciousness crystallized: Megatron could see the younger Seeker, toiling with ignominy on the unnamed world where he had been stranded, laboriously purifying crude fuels and turning them into energon. Storing the raw energon in his rotting body, rust corroding from the seams out, filling in every crack and scrape. Etching him with pain.

"Do you really have a death wish?" Megatron added, a fraction more subdued.

Of course he didn't. The swirling hunt resumed; Starscream relaxed.

Good. He thought Megatron was bluffing.

It was becoming difficult for Megatron to contain his own triumph. He was close. He was so close. Just a little bit longer.

++

 

It appears before me like a mirage, sometimes. Cyberton.

Do you miss it, Skyfire? Do you miss it in that tomb of yours, back on that worthless planet worse than junk?

Around me I am surrounded by the void, the null set of the unmeasureable universe. An emptiness where you were always most at home.

There are no winds to buffet me. No storms to beckon. Nothing to dodge, nothing to embrace. It is suspiciously like the quietness which was inside you all along.

Is this what you always sought to shield me from? The void inside of you?

I don't resent you, you know. I don't hate you. Even now I appreciate what you did for me. How you always protected me, always guarded me, always watched over me and made me feel like I had license to live.

I miss you. I do.

But just don't expect me to be sorry. I am not like you. I am not like this vacuum of outer space through which I pass.

Because in the end, for me, I'm just passing through. This is where you lived all along.

Nailed to the sky.

You always knew I could never join you here.

The fact is that you tried. You tried to live, for me. You went places, with me.

I know you wanted to come. That you wanted to stay with me until the bitter, bitter end.

I wanted that too.

But I don't need to be protected any longer. I can live without you, and will do so for as long as the universe wears form.

But…

I miss you. I will live for you, if you don't mind.

I will live for both of us.

I promise you. I will _never_ die.

++

 

And that was it.

That was the reason for which Megatron was made. That what he was designed to protect: the infallible, insufferable ego of a people who refused to die.

With the flip of an internal switch, the targeting system locked on, having taken the full measure of Starscream's spark. It filled Megatron with unalloyed longing, because this was the spark he had bonded to, and what he'd just done was voluntarily complete the bonding ritual he had refused to perform so many years ago. But this was different; in that case it would have been to establish an unwanted bond, to create a bond where one had not been before. In this, the bond already existed, and already was something that could not be destroyed… but in completing the ritual, Megatron knew he'd gained his terminal advantage, entering the endgame in his struggle to dominate: not over Starscream (which would have been too easy), but over his own unwanted nature.

The fusion reaction had begun. It contained Megatron's desire to kill all things, to destroy everything.

Even that which he'd been designated to protect.

"_What are you doing_?"

The thrill of potentially going through with it was almost too much to bear. But Megatron felt this way about anything he'd properly targeted, a lust for massacre so profound and integral that he barely noticed it was happening until Starscream spoke. Presumably, Starscream's alarm originated either in hearing the telltale whir of the fusion engine coming online, or from the heat which even now must be radiating from his barrel down into the handle.

Megatron didn't reply to Starscream's frantic question.

Would he truly go insane if he killed Starscream? Or would it simply mean that his innate affinity for destruction would be unleashed, freeing him to indulge permanently? Indiscriminately? Greedily?

Was that what he really wanted?

Was the warmth that poured into him now worth more to him than the warmth of being around someone so alive?

Weren't these dual sides of the same transistor?

Before he could consider further, Megatron felt a break in his targeting, and then there was a sudden violent tumbling of his sight. He had only a moment to realize that he'd been thrown, and thrown hard. He was in mid transformation back to root mode when his back hit the wall, the transformation only complete once he slide down the wall to the floor, legs outstretched before him as he clicked his head into place, eyes flashing into life.

"Well, that was instructive," Megatron noted, face lit with a dangerous gaiety.

Starscream was gaping at him in total shock, seated on the opposite side of the room. Clearly, according to whatever fantasy Starscream had brewed regarding his powers over Megatron, this scenario was impossible. It should not be.

"Stop!"

Heaving himself to a standing position, Megatron stayed where he was for a moment, now looking down at the one who owned him: not as a pet, or a toy, or a slave. As a _weapon_.

It was time to school this one on exactly what that meant.

"No," said Megatron.

Starscream remained where he was, seized up as Megatron stalked towards him, a deliberate, loping walk. The Seeker held up his arms before him to form a pathetic, cringing shield. "Why aren't you listening to me?" Starscream cried, bloated with dismay.

Why? It was quite simple, really, although Megatron had no intention to explain. Not now. But to truly command a weapon, one must first have taken full ownership of oneself: something Starscream had clearly never done. Moreover, the commands that must be obeyed came from a place of strength; the weak could never command him, and Megatron intended from this day forth to crush Starscream under his own native power. He'd not been created for the predictable pleasures of the small-minded. The only commands that bore true weight were those given directly, and supported by inner conviction.

The only thing Starscream had right from the beginning was that Megatron could not, in fact, lie to him.

"What's wrong, Starscream," Megatron said, looming above the terrified Seeker. "You wanted me to enjoy being with you." He leaned in, preparing for his most ambitious flyer a gorgeously uncomplicated smile. "Allow me to enjoy you."

Before Starscream could reply with that mordent, silt-like speech of his, Megatron snapped his fingers around Starscream's neck, holding him in place while he used the opposite hand to pith the voice apparatus from deep inside the front of his throat. Culling Starscream of his most potent weapon.

"Ah. Better," Megatron commented, enjoying the look of horror and pain twisting Starscream's face. For the first time, ever, Megatron voluntarily stroked Starscream's face, cupping it in his hand and thumbing Starscream's metal cheek.

So beautiful. Megatron could only guess at the thoughts going through Starscream's mind, but with his recently gained knowledge, he knew his guesses had extremely high probability to be true. What happened? Why now? What could everything that had happened before meant, if this had been possible all along? Megatron knew that suddenly he'd become an appalling mystery to Starscream, transformed from a toy into a force of nature. Something, finally, to be feared.

_I am your death_, Megatron thought, almost lovingly.

_You will hold me close for the rest of your life._

He would have no choice.

Small-minded Starscream probably expected Megatron to administer payback for every bit of humiliation he'd put Megatron through. Starscream was an idiot. To administer payback would be to acknowledge that Starscream ever had that power over him.

It was not possible to humiliate him, because even commanded, Megatron went forward with his own will.

It was wonderful how still Starscream had become, eyes fixed on Megatron, lips forming the word "please." Even now he was calculating furiously, looking for any way out of what he saw to be his inevitable punishment. Foolish, foolish Starscream.

It was not possible for Starscream to win. The only chance Starscream had for triumph would be for Megatron to lose.

Megatron did not need the false appeasement of a master to keep him from indulging in his native desire to dismantle the universe. A long time ago he had chose for himself a goal, and that goal was to create something of value: to make for himself and his people a place in eternity. Not for glory, or conquest: although these conceits were valuable spurs towards the true goal.

Survival.

In this, his desires and Starscream's were one.

"From now on, you will be _my_ weapon," Megatron whispered, leaning in close so that his lips were directly adjacent to Starscream's audio receptors. He discarded Starscream's voice processor carelessly, tossing it to the side. Likelihood was that Starscream would never understand what had happened this day. What Megatron had stolen from him without his realizing it. Why the farce that had begun with Megatron's completely tactical, seemingly blundering admissions of ownership were to end now. "And if you can't be persuaded to be my weapon, you can always be... my pet."

This was as it was meant to be.


	9. The Beginning After The End

_o, the blood and the treasure, and the losing it all  
the time that we wasted  
and the place where we fall  
will we wake in the morning, and know what it was for?  
up in our bedroom, after the war?_

stars, the beginning after the end

 

++

"Oh come on!"

"Unfair! Poor form!"

"Why I oughta.."

Every Friday night at the Ark, the majority of the Autobots would gather around Teletraan-1 and watch their favorite television show (excepting _Knight Rider_, which was almost equally beloved and even more so amongst certain factions e.g. Sunstreaker and Mirage). The finer points of _The Dukes of Hazzard_ were much discussed and debated over, but all were in agreement on two things.

One, General Lee was some kind of supernatural badass.

Two, General Lee had one _fine_ chassis.

Currently, outrage simmered as one of the human law enforcement officers had set up a speed trap, which was designed to change the posted speed limit from fifty-five mph to a criminally slow twenty-five. This touched a particular nerve with the Autobots, seeing as how they liked to be law abiding alien visitors but they also liked to go very, very fast. Fifty-five mph was already a form of moving death; twenty-five was simply _disgusting_. Although the Autobots understood that such slower speeds were the necessary requirement of a species made of flesh and slow-processing neural circuitry, if a road was posted at fifty-five that meant the humans could theoretically handle it at that speed.

To artificially lower the limit was an insult to sentient creatures everywhere.

"That dirty…" "Worthy of a Decepticon!" "Something Megaton would do, no question!"

Consensus was clear.

Passing through the control room, Tracks made a little noise of displeasure. He was one of the few malcontents who did not appreciate the glory of General Lee ("uncouth," he would opine whenever anyone bothered to solicit an opinion). Like anyone with functioning optical sensors, he could appreciate the brute elegance of the Dodge Charger style format, and he even liked the accessory paint detailing.

But it was such a waste. Such a colossal waste, the way such a gorgeous vehicle was indentured into humiliating servitude. Illegally transporting _crude ethanol_.

Tracks had his own secret love. He was off to indulge in the enjoyment of her at that very moment, going for an illicit jaunt to the nearest drive-in theater. He was very much looking forward to seeing that lovely DeLorean again.

Someday, he would meet her in person.

He didn't mind that she didn't have any Cybertronian cerebral circuitry, nor a living spark. Such deficits could easily be fixed by Vector Sigma. Although current access to the supercomputer on Cybertron was prohibited by Decepticon occupation, a bot could dream. Oh yes. A bot could dream.

"Tracks. Do you assay to reconnoiter Return to the Future?" Perceptor, giving Tracks an eager, hopeful look that Tracks had come to know only too well.

"Back to the Future. And yes." Tracks had stopped, giving Perceptor a steady look. It was difficult for him to decide if he should view Perceptor as a rival or not. When it came to external appearances, Tracks knew that he was the winner hands down, but Perceptor was a scientist, and the DeLorean was a time traveler. Perhaps she would prefer the brainy fellows. However, at his core Tracks was a gentleman, and knew that a healthy rivalry could only make love flourish. So even if Perceptor was a rival, he would treat him civilly, and behave honorably in the concourse of love. "Would you care to join me?"

"Yes, I-- "

Before Perceptor could say anything further, there was a sudden quake and a boom, and Teletraan's screen flickered, the human broadcast instantly severed. The overhead lights cut out; someone had cut the power. It was only an astrosecond during which the Ark was cast in shadows before the backup generators kicked in. A separate lighting came online; the room was suddenly suffused with a pallid green light, watery and dim.

"Well, well, well." A familiar voice skidded in with static sarcasm over the alarms. Starscream. "We appear to be interrupting an important _strategic_ session, Lord Megatron."

Tracks had gone to ground when the quake hit. After a moment when he realized the mountain was not coming down on them, he executed an expert roll, moving to crouch in front of Spike, the Autobot's human friend who had been joining the main group for the evening. Several other Autobots had the same idea; Bumblebee and Jazz were at his side, and even Perceptor had rushed to join them. The rest, including Optimus Prime, were stationed in front of Teletraan, forming an ad hoc shield in front of their most precious resource.

How the _slag_ had the Decepticons slipped through the Ark's defenses?

"Yes, Starscream." Megatron. Tracks looked around desperately, trying to find where the enemy was located. "Take note. Perhaps next time, we should defile the human's road signs." He too was deploying deep sarcasm, although in his care it was a sarcasm tinged with scornful humor.

The Decepticon leader's voice sounded tinny; worst news, that. It meant that he was in his weapon form.

Another boom. It must be Megatron's fusion canon. A hideous squeal followed, the bending of one of the main struts supporting the weight of the Ark. A swell of light, rapidly expanding and quickly extinguished, accompanied the sounds this time.

"I wasn't aware Decepticons were in the business of burying themselves alive." Thank Primus. It was Optimus Prime speaking now, fearless and gravely mocking. "Or that you were so fond of us, Megatron. Looking to spend another four million years together?"

And there he was. Or rather, they were. Starscream stood, appearing audaciously alone, against a backdrop of blackness in the arched entryway. But he wasn't alone, of course: Megatron was in his hands, and the smile burning on Starscream's face was as arrogant as it was cruel. Obviously they'd come in right through the front door. Together.

Prowl and Cliffjumper had been the ones on guard duty. They were not unreliable. They would have sounded the alarm. If they could. They would have retreated to provide warning and cover.

If they could.

Tracks shuddered a little, shaking off the distracting reverie.

"Very funny, Prime." Megatron's sneering voice lost none of its creepy intensity when he was in gun form. In fact, it was enhanced. While Megatron was retorting, Starscream continued to hold him, pointed steadily at their leader. "I know you well enough already." The Ark moaned, the loud and hollow sound of metal slowly crumpling at newly created stress points. "Heroic fool, when will you learn that this planet will be plundered regardless of what we do?"

Optimus remained unfazed, his own gun pointed directly at Starscream. "You came here to insult us into submission?"

"Something like that." Megatron practically purred. "Starscream. Your assessment?"

"A dozen Autobots, utterly disposable. One human: insignificant _and_ disposable." In the garish light, Starscream looked positively ghoulish. "Prime will kill me if I shoot, but you might like that." Tracks felt a burst of nausea: what was wrong with Decepticons? Starscream sounded entirely too pleased prophesizing his own potential death. Tracks wished there was something more he could do than stand in as a shield; this situation was as good as détente, and any move on his part might make things worse for Optimus.

"I might," Megatron said, and then with a violent burst the Decepticon leader started to transform. Reflexively, Optimus shot, but mid-transformation Megatron was almost as impossible to hurt as when he was a gun. While Optimus was distracted, Starscream used his _leader_ as a shield, getting a few well placed shots in at Teletraan-1 with his null ray, the sudden report of his laughter as piercing as the blistering crackle of sizzled silicon. Tracks grit his teeth, but also took advantage of the commotion to take hold of his beam gun, and shoot off one of his heat seeking missiles aiming directly for Megatron.

Tracks was not the only one.

For a moment, the room was a flash flurry of close-range fire. "Stop!" Optimus called out over the din. "STOP!"

Where was Starscream? Where was Megatron? A cloud of smoke separated Autobots from the villains.

"The stupidity of your troops is as gratifying as ever, Prime." Another wrenching, low-pitched groan vibrated throughout the Ark's infrastructure, and Tracks cursed himself, knowing suddenly (and belatedly) the truth of Megatron's words. "Good to know that Autobots can always be counted on to destroy anything of _real_ value."

"You wouldn't know what's valuable if it kicked you in the carburetor!" Bumblebee. Tracks tsked, not annoyed at his comrade, exactly, but exasperated all the same. Bumblebee was living proof that bravery did not have to coexist with intelligence or skill. Worse, whenever Bumblebee was shouting defiance, that was usually cue for—

"No one's scared of you, you dumb lugs!"

Spike.

"My, my. So provocative." Starscream's voice; it seemed to be coming from the ceiling. Of course. The Decepticons were ignoble dastards who thought nothing of making cowardly retreat. Even though evasive action wasn't exactly retreat. Still, it was deceptive, and everyone knew that just wasn't honorable.

A thin column of the smoke evaporated as Starscream fired his null ray, clearly aiming for the human. In this case, hitting Tracks. Fortunately the null ray was not designed to kill, or even maim. Tracks crumbled to the floor, numb and paralyzed.

"So idiotic."

A forced system shutdown was imminent. Tracks could feel it drawing in around him, the blackness of oblivion.

"Well, that was predictably dull. Shall we 'retreat' now, mighty Megatron?"

It looked like he wasn't going to make his movie date.

 

. + .

 

"Objective secured. ETA to Nemesis, sixteen breems under current wind conditions. Thundercracker, out."

Starscream smiled to himself, sparing a glance at Megatron who was flying next to him. As missions went, this one had been a complete success. Soundwave and the cassettes stayed behind to act as the mop-up crew, erasing all traces of hacking from the currently unresponsive Teletraan-1. If all went well, news of the various flashy raids that various Decepticons had performed around the globe would bury all hint of the Decepticon's true objective: an ancient power medallion from one of China's oldest temples. Thundercracker was bringing it now.

As usual, the Autobots had no appreciation for the finer aspects of deceit.

Although, if it were up to him, Teletraan wouldn't be merely be unresponsive. It would be dust. Megatron always proved to be surprisingly conservative when it came to direct action against the Ark; even though Starscream understood the reasons, he still couldn't agree. So what if the Ark remained the most important source of authentic Cybertronian technology on this planet? That's what the Space Bridge was for. So what if Teletraan-1 was one of the more superior mainframes ever to have been constructed by a Cybertronian? There would always be opportunities to build another.

Things would be a lot easier if they'd allow themselves to be as indiscriminate as Autobots when it came to destroying valuable tech. If Starscream were in charge, he would not fear starting from scrap.

Megatron was simply far too greedy.

The current flight path westward had Starscream and Megatron crossing the Rocky mountains, and since they were both in their respective robot modes, they were flying low and slow; not exactly Starscream's cube of energon. It wasn't as if either of them had been injured—much. Nor was it that Megatron couldn't keep up with Starscream in alt-mode, assuming Starscream were idling at a low cruising speed. No, this was just another one of Megatron's abrasive whims, a caprice almost certainly calculated to be irritating.

Just like the Autobots, Starscream _hated_ to have his speed artificially throttled.

However, unlike those rule-abiding diode dolts, he was not constrained by anything so silly as road signs. Frag, he wasn't constrained by anything so silly as _roads_.

But even if Megatron took off the leash of his command and allowed Starscream to fly unbridled, there would always be restraints far more effective than anything the Decepticon leader could dream up.

This planet. This hateful, hateful planet. With its heavy, tricky winds and its oppressive gravity. He'd hated it the first time he'd been stranded here, millions and millions of years ago. Now unfortunate fate had given him the opportunity to cultivate his hatred all over again. An encore performance, if you will. In some ways, things were better this time: he wasn't alone, the planet wasn't quite so wretchedly bereft of exploitable technology, and he'd been given a new alt-mode, exchanging beloved tetra jet mode for this slower, weaker-framed F-15 model.

Starscream's feelings about his current alt mode were complicated. Since it was a "gift" from this most loathed planet, he should hate it unreservedly. But Teletraan-1 had chosen it for a reason, and had chosen well: it adapted him to local conditions, and gave him powers of maneuverability hitherto undreamed of. Powers which actually had benefits anywhere; there were limits to the battle effectiveness of interceptor-type aircraft, which was what he'd been before. Now that he was an air superiority fighter, his usefulness to the Deception cause had advanced.

Needless to say, his ability to promote his own position had advanced as well.

But none of that could make up for this planet's very real crimes. Not even the newfound delight of dogfights and stunt flying against the challenging winds could make up for what Earth had done to him, all those many years ago. Only complete obliteration would expunge its sins.

Past the Rockies, now Starscream and Megatron were running low over the flat farmlands of California, rapidly approaching the coast. Beads of yellow light marked out roads and human habitations; at night, under cover of darkness, it was sometimes possible to pretend the terrain of Earth was actually that of Cybertron. But not here, not when the nets of city light were spaced so far apart. Starscream snarled quietly to himself. It was all so ugly, and cheap, and fake.

Starscream had no doubt that Earth's hatred was personal, so he made it personal too. Could it have been a coincidence that intelligent life only developed here _after_ his humiliating and very painful shipwreck, stranded for stellar cycle upon stellar cycle? Possible, but he seriously doubted it. The humans were just as rapacious as Decepticons, after all. Pathetic copies, of extremely inferior construction. It was simply spiteful.

After all, if it hadn't been for the humans, _that traitor_ might even be flying at his side. Right now.

This trail of thought was swiftly banished. The topic of that traitor was something he'd forbidden, both for everyone who wasn't Megatron, and for himself.

And Megatron, perhaps surprisingly, himself rarely brought it up.

This seeming consideration was most troubling; there must have been something behind it.

Because if there was one thing Starscream had learned? Long, long ago? Was that Megatron was _never_ considerate.

Never.

"Starscream, I wish to land." Case in point: what was this, a detour? A tour stop? A moment for some self congratulatory megalomania? "There."

Quelling an old, stale, foolish hope, Starscream dutifully looked down to where Megatron was pointing: a scrub-covered cliff just short of the Pacific Ocean.

Oh, this was just _swell_. A layover in scenic Pescadero.

Not that it was particularly scenic at the moment: it was night, the perpetual fog of the coast had already begun to advance, and the cresting waves of the ocean would be difficult to discern with a standard optical evaluation. Megatron landed in the sage and yarrow scrub a safe distance from the cliff edge, crushing the hardy plants under his tremendous tonnage. In a moment, Starscream did the same.

On the beach below, a small group of humans were surrounding a bonfire; they were listening to loud music and probably smoking some of their native plants in order to achieve a chemically altered state; several of them were shamelessly interfacing in front of their peers. All in all, a disgusting display, typical of the humans. They didn't even try to be anything more than beasts, did they?

Starscream aimed his null ray, itching to crash the party with his own, evolved idea of "fun."

"Go ahead," Megatron murmured.

Completely inconsiderate. Giving him permission took all the fun out of it. Starscream soured, and for a moment dropped his arm, pettishly tempted to let the humans live so as not to look like he was accepting any favors from his leader. But slag it. He really did hate humans. Starscream fired: the sound of screams as surviving humans scattered was most gratifying.

"Aren't you going to take them all?" Megatron prompted, in that same calm and almost quiet tone.

Preparing to do just that, Starscream froze. "… no," he said at last, sullen as he dropped his arm.

It absolutely galled, the way Megatron made a point to give Starscream permission for things he had every right to do on his own. Especially considering what Megatron was to him.

What Megatron was, period.

Starscream stood stock still, clenching his hands into tight fists, less to endure than to keep a lid on his temper. What he really _really_ wanted to do right now was shoot Megatron. Turn the muzzle of his null ray onto Megatron and crank it up to the ultimate setting, freezing Megatron for long enough that Starscream could slowly, slowly dissect him alive. It would be such a beautiful thing. To tear, to rend, to mar…

To touch.

It galled, to want it. To want _him_.

Especially when Starscream really hadn't wanted Megatron all that much when he _could_ touch him freely. When it had all been nothing more than a strategy, a ruse to safely seal the control he thought Megatron was bound to the cede to him.

"You're not used to it," Megatron observed.

Great. What was Megatron on about? Trademarked crypticism was just what he needed right now. Starscream turned to face his leader, lip curled and shining under the light of the moon. "Not used to what, oh mighty leader?"

Megatron raised his hands, both of them, gesturing as if to say 'all this.' That really wasn't any better, but Starscream had not spent over a million years at Megatron's side for nothing. After a moment Starscream nodded, having decrypted the meaning. "I hate it here," Starscream groused, or perhaps smarmed. It was very difficult to keep from sounding entirely petulant. "I hate this world. Why bother?"

"Why bother?" Employing the false surprise of a rhetorician, Megatron pretended to be puzzled. "Because this world exists to be plundered." Megatron himself turned to look Starscream directly in the eye. "I wasn't lying." It was almost enviable, the attenuated and strong self control Megatron clearly possessed. "To Prime, I mean. Someone will despoil this planet. Shouldn't it be us?"

Despoiling was too good for _this_ planet. Starscream looked away. He was not so far gone with his resentment that he'd say that out loud, but he knew full well that Megatron could read him too. Those millions of years had gone both ways.

He hated it. He felt so disgustingly transparent. He knew his cranked up desires were obvious to Megatron. That Megatron doubtlessly was enjoying the sick pleasure of seeing him suffer.

Whenever Starscream was given the opportunity to take Megatron in hand, it almost always ended like this, with some quiet and maddeningly teasing debriefing. It didn't matter if they had won or if they'd lost: if Megatron had deigned to allow Starscream to handle him as a weapon, something was bound to happen. Rarely ever was it something satisfying, but still. _Something_.

 

Whatever it was, it was enough to drive Starscream mad, sometimes.

He's always known that Megatron had not wanted him, not at all, but for that brief time when he'd believed himself to have the upper hand, Megatron's lack of reciprocal feeling was a snare, something fetching and enjoyable. The promise of inevitable conquest had been absolutely intoxicating. At the time, of course, he'd desired nothing _but_ conquest; he'd never dreamed that his attempts at seduction would backfire so terribly. Leaving him to be the one with unresolved longings and… need.

Looking back, a detached part of Starscream admired the exquisite cruelty of it all. Who knew if getting Starscream into this state had been Megatron's goal all along, but this was obviously a nice side benefit. What had been the point of that too brief time, so terribly long ago, when Megatron had yielded almost everything to him? In his millions of years of memories, that time had been a mere blip. Hardly worth remembering, let alone commenting on: except that it consumed his thoughts and passions even to this day. That time had deformed him, made him flawed. Made him less.

And he still didn't even know why.

Megatron belonged to him… or did he? Starscream clung to this belief as an article of faith, and yet as distance and compression pressed his memories down into increasingly inaccessible subfolders, it took more effort to recall the events of that time. Worse, the uncertainty of error and data drift caused him to wonder if he'd been mistaken. If Megatron had hatched that whole experience in deceit, according to a hidden planning horizon which yet stretched out into the future.

There were many undeniably frightening things about Megatron. Chief amongst them was his ruthless ability to sacrifice his own pride in order to achieve some far-off dream.

A lonely, and yet doubtlessly magnificent, far-off dream.

Taking Starscream's prolonged silence and avoidant posture as if he'd been fully answered, Megatron continued. "Neither victory nor vengeance is achieved in a day." He smiled. Starscream could practically feel the smile. "And victory trumps vengeance, every time."

Was that supposed to be a reproach? What, was Megatron openly calling Starscream petty now? Why had Megatron even bothered to make him Second-in-Command, if all he was ever going to do was mock and taunt him? It was maddening. Starscream twitched. "I hate it here," he repeated stubbornly.

"I know," Megatron said, going back to the calm tones he'd started with. He was obviously being patronizing; Starscream should have guessed all along.

For another couple breems they stood there silent and together, staring out at the black ocean, listening to the distant crashing sound of the surf. The humans were long gone.

Eventually, Megatron stirred. "Get used to it," he said simply.

And then he flew off, not bothering to wait to tell Starscream to do the same.

. fin .


End file.
